


Keep to the Stars

by MaryDragon



Series: The Pillars of Creation [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 190K words of UST, ALL THE SPOILERS, AU, AU IS ACTUALLY AU, Additional Warnings Apply, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Antivan Crows, Assassins, Author Feasts on your Tears, Background Relationships, Cameos, Cliffhangers, Cole is a cinnamon bun, Dancing, Epic Halamshiral, Evolving Tags, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Gen, Graphic depiction of death, Inquisitor is a Badass, Language Barrier, Major character death - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi-Part Story, NO SERIOUSLY SPOILERS, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, POV Multiple, POV Original Character, R-E-S-P-E-C-T, Slow Burn, Spirit Fambly, Spoilers, Things are not as they seem, This is not the universe you were looking for, Unreliable Narrator, WARNING THIS IS AN AU, Weeklong Winter Ball, f-bombs galore, long fic, now with art, spoilers in the tags, the slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-17 03:51:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 65
Words: 290,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4651176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryDragon/pseuds/MaryDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My take on a modern-day character in Thedas.<br/>Some major canon divergences as well as minor alterations in some characters and situations.<br/>Tags (including relationship tags) will be evolving as the story progresses, to avoid spoilers.<br/>Themes to include: separation, death, denial, mental illness, free will, survivor's guilt, anachronism, alternate universes, time travel, and oh my god this sounds dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I Chapter 1: Awareness

**Author's Note:**

> **Dedicated to the Memory of Morthoven Higgins**
> 
> Now with art!  
> Gwen as Death on Chapter 1  
> Gwen as The Moon on Chapter 22  
> Hellen as The Sun on Chapter 31  
> Gwen's romance card, Strength, on Chapter 36  
> ...all by the incredible [dissatisfied_doodles](http://dissatisfied-doodles.tumblr.com/)  
> Hellen by the indomitable [E153n](http://e153n.tumblr.com/) on Chapter 12  
> And Gwen & Hawke by [ Chanterie](http://chanterie.tumblr.com/) on Chapter 43  
> And three new (As of June 2016) works from the amazing [Grimmcake](http://grimmcake.tumblr.com/) on Halamshiral Nights One, Four, and Seven.  
> ...or, Chapters 42, 45, and 48.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with art!  
> Gwen by the lovely [dissatisfied_doodles](http://dissatisfied-doodles.tumblr.com/)  
> 

 

Before I was awake, I was aware of the cold.

It was seeping through the layers of my clothes, stiffening my spine and sending fingertips of frost into my abdomen. My legs were nearly numb from it, my hands were clenched and sore.

My head felt bruised; the pain was what finally brought me back to consciousness, I think. A patch above my right ear felt battered, but it was the cold hardness of stone flattening the back of my head that was the biggest offender. My hair was braided, and the heavy plait was trapped between the base of my skull and the impossibly cold floor.

I was awake for awhile before I realized it. I took silent stock of my limbs and torso, finally deciding that _my head hurts_.

I opened my eyes to a weakly lit cell. The flickering light was coming from somewhere beyond my feet – it reminded me of firelight, although I couldn’t quite place it. The angles of the shadows were all wrong to be a fireplace, and too strong to be from a candle.

I tipped my head up from the floor – immediately regretting it, as a surge of dizziness accentuated the ache in the back of my skull – and managed to glance around before easing back down. There was a torch near the doorway, somewhere beyond my feet. Four solid walls, ceiling, floor: all surfaces were stone blocks, and not particularly well crafted ones. If everything hadn’t been squared off, I would have thought myself in a cave.  

 The firelight seemed to glint wetly off the stone, and the thought made me take stock of my situation again. My feet were decidedly damp. My legs felt a bit damp, as well, while my torso and head seemed dry. As if I’d been walking in the rain, perhaps? I lifted my feet into the air, one at a time, into my line of sight, rather than attempting to lift my head again.

The rubber toes of my all-stars were scuffed but my shoes were intact. My jeans were a bit muddied at the knees, but also intact. That my socks and shoes were soaked was perhaps attributable to the cold – they hadn’t had a chance to dry properly and would take longer than my hoodie and my hair.

I recalled, vaguely, that I was wearing one of Patrick’s old dress shirts under the grey hooded sweatshirt.

Where was Patrick?

Surely wherever I was, he would be somewhere near. I hadn’t travelled anywhere without him in over a decade.

I tapped my left hand on the floor, and heard the _click_ of metal on stone. My pockets felt empty, but my wedding ring was still on my finger. The idea was comforting, and not just in the I-haven’t-been-robbed way.

I wedged my hands under me and pushed up from the floor, barely biting back a curse as I sat upright. My head throbbed horribly for a moment but quickly subsided back into the dull ache of before; _orthostatic hypotension_ , my training told me. I’d been lying down too long, and my blood pressure needed a moment to stabilize now that I was upright. If I tried to stand right away I’d likely pass out and have to start the whole process over.

I drew my knees up to my chin and wrapped my arms around my legs, hugging them against my chest. _Surface area to volume ratio_ ; the smaller I got, the warmer I’d be. I rubbed my hands against my jeans, hoping the friction would help warm – and dry – the stiffened denim as I looked around the little cell.

I called it _cell_ because _room_ seemed to be too generous. I was the only thing within its walls; me, and a narrow woven blanket beneath me, too small by half to keep me off the floor. My stomach rumbled ominously, the sound echoing slightly in the empty cell. How long had it been since I’d eaten?  Dehydration might be contributing to my headache; my throat was parched, my teeth and tongue coated with days of dried saliva. I let myself shudder at the taste in my mouth.

I pulled my hood up to cover my hair, hoping to keep a bit more warmth within. I was too cold to shiver; I was rapidly approaching the danger zone of hypothermia.

I rocked back and forth a bit on my tailbone, trying to judge whether it was safe yet to stand, when a woman suddenly appeared in the doorway.

She was thin – the rail-thinness of profound, lifelong malnourishment. Her black hair was shaggy and unkempt, covering most of her features. She raised her hand and conscientiously tugged a lock over one ear, as if making sure it was covered. I couldn’t blame her, given the cold. Her eyes were… odd. Strangely orb like, oversized and casting back enough light from the torch to make them seem to glow, like a cat’s. She was wearing a simple A-line dress, though even in the poor light I could see it was a thick wool. Her shoes were thick sheepskin that disappeared under the skirt, and she was wearing a thick sheepskin wrap around her shoulders.

I had never seen anyone like her, ever in my life. I couldn’t imagine what set of circumstances would bring together the features she bore.

I also couldn’t imagine a set of circumstances that would find me freezing to death on the stone floor of a cell, so the strange woman was par for the course, today.

She opened to her mouth to speak, and a string of nonsense words poured out in a wonderfully lyrical accent. The language had a Russian flavor to it, although I couldn’t pick out a single word I recognized.

“Do you speak English?” I asked her, conscientious of how coarse my voice sounded compared to her.

She spoke again, the words enunciated slowly and carefully, but just as unintelligible as before.

I put my hands up, palm-up, and shrugged, shaking my head. “I do not know your language. I am so sorry. I speak _English_ , do you know anyone who speaks _English_?”

She sighed, and turned to leave. I pushed myself slowly off the floor, intending to follow her.

She shouted at me, then – and startled me so badly I fell backwards onto my ass.

I put my hands up again, this time palms toward her, and repeated, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” until she mimicked my gesture. She said a shorter sentence, and I hoped it was her accepting my apology. I didn’t know how else to mime remorse beyond one hand on my heart and one palm towards her.

After a moment of silence, I mimed that I was cold – rubbing my hands on my arms and blowing into my hands while shivering. She smiled, and rubbed her own hands together, holding the palms towards the torch while asking me something. I nodded and smiled, continuing the charade. She pointed at the pallet and said something that was quite clearly the equivalent of _stay there_ and then walked out of the room.

She was back in minutes with a heavy wool blanket, and she only hesitated a moment before walking into the room and wrapping it around my shoulders. I nodded my head and thanked her, but was careful not to make any other movements. She darted back to the doorway as soon as the blanket was out of her hands.

There was a voice down the hall, then – a booming male voice in that strange not-Russian language, although completely missing the lyrical accent the woman had. She called back something, and then shot me a stern – concerned? – look before disappearing down the hall.

The doorway was darkened a moment later by a giant beast of a man. I was looking at the floor when he appeared, and so my eyes travelled up from his feet without really meaning to. His boots were well-tooled leather, although of a style I had never seen. His pants were strangely voluminous, made of leather from no species of animal I could name. He had an evil looking knife strapped to one hip, and the blade of a massive axe dangling down his back almost to his knees. As I took in his missing shirt and _grey skin_ I realized this wasn’t a man… not by my standard definition, at least.

He wore a kind of harness across his shoulders, I guessed to support the axe. He had a heavy black eye patch over his left eye and thick raking scars along his face beneath it. He wore his hair in a crazy double-mohawk extending out to either side of his head… except it wasn't hair, but horns; foot-long horns that barely cleared the doorframe.

As I realized where I recognized him from, my heart leapt into my throat.

He was a qunari.

“I hear you speak Qunlat,” he said in perfect English, and I wanted nothing more than to be unconscious again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry to say that this will not be updated with the frequency of Higgins' Song or my other previous works, as this is still very much a WIP. I hope that starting to post it will help kick my muse into gear so I can finish it. I am approximately 80K words in and sitting at about the halfway point, so don't worry about it being abandoned. Also, long fic is long.


	2. Pt I Ch 2: Just a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we establish a timeline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't get used to frequent updates. I just wanted to get a bit more information out there about WTF is going on, including a name for our protagonist.

 

> _“I hear you speak Qunlat,” he said in perfect English, and I wanted nothing more than to be unconscious again._

 

“No,” I said immediately, shocked. “I speak _English_. I am not a follower of the Qun.”

He laughed – a deep chuckle that was nothing his voice actor could ever hope to achieve with mere human vocal cords. “Sounds like Qunlat to me.”

The blanket around my shoulders was helpful on a psychological level, but I didn’t have enough body heat to warm the air between me and it, and so it wasn’t doing much physical good. “Alright. I’m clearly hypothermic to the point of hallucinating. Is there someplace warmer I could be?”

Another chuckle. “This is the best we can do for you, at the moment. I’ll be sure to pass on your complaint about the temperature of your accommodations. The elf did mention you were cold, though, so I brought you a fire flask.” The phial was hidden in his massive hand, and he handed it to me without further comment.

Reaching up to take it, I was able to briefly compare my hand to his. His smallest finger was twice the length and three times the circumference of my thumb. The phial he handed me was the size of one of the cordial glasses in my cupboard at home; it contained maybe three ounces of a pale orange liquid.

I tugged the cap off and downed the contents with a quick toss of my head.

This would be the best hallucination of my life if I could be warmer. If whatever he just gave me could provide that illusion, I would happily take it.

I expected it to taste like burning. It tasted like oil – high quality olive oil, the kind you find at good Italian restaurants with the red pepper flakes in it. There was a slight burn on the  back of my throat, but it was nothing compared to the heat that suddenly erupted from my stomach as the liquid hit bottom.

My core temperature rose five degrees, instantly. The heat spread quickly to my fingers and toes and all points in between. Within minutes I was able to shrug out of the wool blanket, although I kept it close. I halfway expected my temperature to keep rising, with how quickly it had initially shot up, but I seemed to level out at just about normal.

“Better?” the kossith before me asked.

I nodded. “Much, thank you. I was too cold to shiver, before. May I ask what that was?”

He shrugged. “Fire flask, like I said. I’m no alchemist. I don’t mix the shit, I just drink it.”

“Right,” I agreed. I sighed. “So. Me and The Iron Bull, sitting in a cell. This is nice.”

“You know my name?” he asked. I glanced up to see his stance had shifted, subtly. One foot had drifted back, the beginning of  fighter’s stance.

It was my turn to shrug. “Sure. It’s my hallucination, right? Makes sense I would hallucinate about my favorite story.”

His foot shifted slightly farther back. Wonderful. I’m threatening a qunari berserker.

“I’m your favorite story?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, love. This world is my favorite story.” I put my arms out, indicating the cell around me. “Thedas! Why I would imagine myself in _a cell_ in Thedas is beyond me, but I suppose that’s what makes this a hallucination instead of a dream. I mean, I hit my head, right? My head hurts, here above my ear and here at the base.” I ran my hand across the places as I mentioned them. “Just like when we were in that accident a few winters ago and I spent six hours in a neck brace in the ED. My braid got jammed against the back of my head and left a hell of a bruise. I’m remembering that, right? So I’m hurt, and hallucinating all of this. Maybe I’m seriously hurt, maybe this is a coma dream. I had a great dream that one time I passed out giving blood, so that makes sense.”

“You did hit your head,” he confirmed slowly. His expression was guarded and his words enunciated carefully, as if he was talking to a lunatic or a child. “Why would you think this is a dream?”

“I’ve dreamed about Dragon Age before. This wouldn’t the first time. This is a hell of a lot more vibrant, though, and I can’t wake myself up – usually I can wake myself up if I know I’m dreaming – so this is a hallucination. Or a medically induced coma. I would much rather dream about this world than my own. This is escapism of the purest form.”

“Alright, so you know _where_ you are and you know _when_ you are,” he said, half to himself.

“I know who _you_ are, and I know who _I_ am, so I’m oriented. I’d argue I am alert, too….” The thought was almost amusing. I was oriented, to what I saw, if not to a real person and place. Maybe I’d gone insane, rather than merely hitting my head.

“Right,” he agreed gently. “You compare _this_ world with _your_ world. You think there’s a difference?”

I grinned at him. “Of course I do. Thedas is imaginary. It’s a high-tech fairy tale, created as a backdrop for a role-playing game. I have obviously spent _way_ too much time playing it. I hope I’m not having a psychotic break, that would be really inconvenient.”

“You and me both, sister,” he agreed, before – surprisingly – lowering himself to the floor just a step inside the doorway. “Let’s try this a different way. What’s the last thing you remember?”

I opened my mouth to answer – and realized I didn’t have one. “Huh,” I said, feeling my eyebrows draw together. “I was… I don’t know. I’m dressed for the autumn, this is the sort of thing I might wear to run errands, if I was in a hurry and my laundry wasn’t done. My shoes are wet, and I seem to remember that’s because it was raining. I was… in the woods? But that doesn’t make any sense, I wouldn’t wear canvas shoes in the woods, especially not if it was going to rain. That’s dumb.”

Bull quirked an eyebrow at me – the one over his missing eye – but stayed silent.

“My name is Gwen,” I told him, both to confirm I did remember it and because it seemed the courteous thing to do.

“I’d tell you I’m The Iron Bull, but you seem to already know it.”

I nodded. “Yes,” I agreed. “With the article; the article is important.”

That one eyebrow went up again.

“I’m married. Been married eight years, as of last month… Ah! It was July. I remember it was July. I am wearing _way_ too many clothes for July, though. What the hell? Shouldn’t my hallucination make sense?”

He smiled, then, and I noticed his teeth were _pointed_ , like fangs. It was terrifying.

“I am confused and uncomfortable,” I admitted to him, hoping the confession would help, somehow. “Nothing makes sense. If I were dreaming, wouldn’t this make more sense? Or, since it _doesn’t_ make sense, shouldn’t that wake me up?”

“I would imagine that is a good indication that you _aren’t_ dreaming,” he said, rather gently.

I didn’t have anything to say to that. I realized I was blinking at him, dumbly, but I was at a loss for words.

“Would you like me to tell you what happened?”

I nodded.

“Boss and the ‘Vint got sucked into a portal. Me and the crazy elf were getting ready to fight our way out of there, when the Boss and the plus-one drop right back out of a portal, all beat to shit and pissed. Boss storms over to Alexius, and as he’s casting some spell to save his own ass, the Boss rips him clean in half. Magister prick manages to get his spell off, but the ‘Vint says it got fucked up by Alexius’ death, and instead of what was _supposed_ to happen, we get another portal. Out of this portal comes _you_ , except you land on your ear and the only thing we know is that you’re clearly not from around here. Boss says we keep you around ‘til we figure you out. So here we are.”

I could feel my heart stuttering as a violent tremble started in my hands. “I fell out of a portal?”

Bull nodded.

“One of Alexius’ time portals?”

Bull nodded again.

“That should _not_ make more sense than that I’m dreaming,” I told him.

That single eyebrow lifted again. “Have you ever known you were dreaming and not been able to wake up?”

No. No, I hadn’t. But was I really going to say that to _The Iron Bull_?

Instead, I crossed my arms, placing my palms to my collar bone, and ran my hands down both arms. Bull didn’t move, but watched me with a bemused expression. “If it’s a medically-induced coma,” I told him, and I methodically scraped my hands against all the places an IV might have been inserted into me, “there’s got to be a catheter somewhere giving me the meds. If you’re a hallucination, if you’re really a nurse or a CNA that my mind is twisting, you’ll stop me from ripping out my IV.”

“Its amazing,” he said, almost to himself. “You’re speaking Qunlat, but so many of those words… Gibberish. If I hadn’t seen the portal for myself – or those _shoes_ – I could easily believe you were one card short of a full deck. What are you shoes made out of, anyways?”

“Rubber,” I answered, going over prospective IV sites a second time, more forcefully. “The original rubber came from trees, natural latex. This is more likely from petroleum, like most plastics.”

“More Gibberish,” he mused. “I’ve heard crazy people speak like this, but the words all meant something…”

“Word salad,” I agreed, abandoning my search for hallucinatory IVs. “Where somebody says a jumble of words like a normal sentence, with the right tones and inflections, but the words don’t mean anything in that order.”

Both eyebrows went up. “Can you be crazy _and_ know what it is to be crazy? I thought the two were mutually exclusive.”

“What if you woke up one morning, dying of thirst and hypothermia, and maybe a little bit of starvation, and you found yourself in a room with all the elvhen gods having a conversation?”

“I’d think I was- oh.” He said, looking at me. “You think I’m a god?”

“No, I think you’re a fictional character. It was the first thing I could think of for a comparison.”

He only grunted a reply, looking at me with a new sort of understanding.

“Why do you think I’m a fictional character?” he asked after a moment of thought.

I sighed. “There’s no getting out without going in, I suppose. I can’t wake up, so I might as well enjoy it. You are a character in a… story, let’s say, for the sake of argument. But the way your story was written… it’s a sort of choose-your-own-adventure story. You know the ones… where each page is a paragraph description with a number of options for what action you would take-“

“And each option takes you to a different page,” he interrupted. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Alright. The subject of the book is the Inquisitor – your _Boss_ , as you say. Although you probably haven’t named him the Inquisitor yet, everybody’s still calling him the Herald of Andraste.”

Bull went utterly still. “What do you mean, _still_ and _yet_?”

“I told you, you’re the subject of a story,” I said. “Not a serial, not a work-in-progress. A _story_. You are Ben’Hassrath. You got burned out and were sent here to spy. You put together the Chargers and sent Krem to Haven to meet the Herald. The Herald went to the Storm Coast to see you work and agreed to hire you. You told him that the Inquisition wasn’t just getting the Chargers – who are awesome in and of themselves – but also _you_ , a front-end body guard. And then, right there on the beach, you told the Herald that you were Ben’Hassrath, because who the hell lies to something called the _Inquisition_? You come to Haven, and then – I assume – the Herald brings you with him to Redcliffe to meet with Alexius and negotiate for the mages that have somehow gotten swept into the Magisterium. You find out it’s because Alexius has been fucking with time magic – thanks to the timely assistance of Dorian – and when the Herald went into that portal with _the Vint_ , as you called him, where they actually went was a year forward in time.”

“That’s fucking creepy,” he cut me off, quickly standing up. “If I hadn’t seen you fall out of that portal, I would split you in half and call us short one spy.”

“Well, that’s a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”

He went still again. “Fair point. Who are spying for?”

I shook my head. “I’m not a spy. I’m a klutz. I don’t have a stealthy bone in my body. I tried sneaking up on a friend of mine once _with bells on_ for pete’s sake. I’m a nurse – the healing kind, not the baby-feeding kind. I just happen to have spent a lot  of time reading about your world. We play a very intense game of What-If with the Hero of Ferelden, the Champion of Kirkwall, and the Herald of Andraste. Are they male or female? Human or elven or dwarf? Are they mages or rogues or warriors? Are they fair or are they tyrants? Do they heal or destroy? We tinker with what choices these people make, how their decisions shape the world. It’s a game for us.”

“So you’re from the future,” the hulking kossith asserted.

The thought was troubling. “I don’t… think so. Your world is a _game_ , not a history.”

“Okay, then. An alternate future, like the dark world the Boss saw.”

That was even more troubling. “I don’t know. I’m more comfortable with the idea that I’m dreaming.”

Bull snorted. “Alright, little dreamer. What happens next?”

“If you take me someplace warm, I’ll tell you stories all day.”

“There isn’t anyplace warm in Haven.”

I shot to my feet. “Haven? We’re in Haven? I thought we were in Redcliffe!”

“You’ve been out for days. Boss had you brought back here with us.”

I stepped toward him involuntarily, and wrapped my fingers around the harness on his chest. He reached over one shoulder to grab the handle of his axe. “When are the mages arriving? When is the Herald closing the Breach?”

“Why?” he asked, warily.

“The Herald takes Cassandra and Solas up with him to close the Breach. They’re successful. Everybody is fucking overjoyed. The Elder One sneaks up on the Inquisition during the party with a huge force of Venatori and red-lyrium-addled templars. You’re attacked the day the Breach is closed. _When is the Herald closing the Breach_?!?”

His hand slid off the axe handle and his jaw went a little slack in shock. “An hour ago. I came down here just as the party started.”

I let go of his harness and staggered back a step. “You have to evacuate. Get everybody into the Chantry. Corypheus is coming. Haven is lost – _today_.”


	3. Pt I Ch 3: In the Chantry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we met our Herald, and many other familiar faces.

It was easy to forget I was cold, and dehydrated, and _fucking starving_ when I was so scared I couldn’t see straight. I was too dehydrated to piss myself, that was a plus.

Bull seemed to consider his options for a second before reaching down to grab my knees and then throw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Ugh, don’t do that,” I complained. “My head is fucking _killing me_.”

“No way you can move fast enough, this is the quickest way to get you to the Boss. I’ll grab you a waterskin on the way to the gate,” he replied. “If you’re being honest with me, dehydration is the least of your concerns.”

“No, it’s really not,” I answered, a bit spitefully. “The weather is turning. There’s a hell of a snow storm coming in tonight. I have no intention of freezing to death in a snow bank because I’m too weak to make the hike.”

He grunted again. “I know you haven’t been out to see the sky…”

“I’m definitely not a weather witch, or I would have magicked myself up a fucking heat wave.”

That earned me another rumbling chuckle as we cleared the top of the stairs and he pushed open a heavy door into what had to be the Haven Chantry. I found myself wishing I was upright, so I could better see the building. I mean… the _Haven Chantry_. This was the pilgrimage site for the Urn of Sacred Ashes! If you’re going to have a crazy vivid coma dream, this is the kind of thing you want to see and be able to talk about later, when you wake up.

All I could really see were the crimson robes and not-as-ridiculous-as-in-the-game headdresses of the assorted clergy. Most of them had their hair uncovered, and the ones wearing hats had the flat black caps that I associated with Chancellor Roderick.

Bull dropped to one knee for half a heartbeat near the double-doors (I saw after we went through them) and scooped up a waterskin from a crate of alms on the floor. He passed it to me over his head and I propped myself up on an elbow to drink.

“Spit out the first mouthful,” he advised.

“Why? My breath that bad?”

Another chuckle vibrated my rib cage. “Maybe. But more important is to get all the shit out of your mouth. You don’t want to swallow everything that built up on your teeth while you were out. Trust me.”

“Oh, I know,” I grumbled, resisting the urge to run my tongue over my teeth. They were probably furry by this point.

I took a mouthful and swished vigorously. I could feel the chunks slough off and fought the urge to gag. I leaned as far away from Bull as I could and spit onto the ground. I did it twice more, for good measure, before finally taking a drink.

“Better?” my chariot asked when I sighed.

“God, yes.”

“Food will have to wait. You’re not in any trouble yet – elf mage, Solas, brushed this honeyed tea shit on your lips while you were sleeping. Said it would keep you alive until you woke up.”

The idea was chilling. _Solas_ giving me tea like I was in uthenera. I suddenly went from _believing_ I was dreaming, to _desperately hoping_ I was dreaming.

“You got a problem with elves? Or mages?” Bull asked. He must have noticed my reaction.

“Neither,” I admitted. “I just… can’t fucking believe Solas gave me the same treatment he gave the Herald.”

“Not quite. You needed less healing and more time.”

Rather than attempt an answer, I took another drink of water. It was slightly warmed, which was nice with the biting wind against my still-damp jeans. I suspected I would be freezing as soon as Bull set me down.

He came to an abrupt halt and I shivered in anticipation. “Gonna set you down, slow. Don’t go doing anything rash.”

“After being flat on my back for days and then dangled upside down behind a qunari? Yeah, rash isn’t on the menu. Don’t let go of me too quick, I’ll probably go down.”

Another chuckle. “I like a lady that knows her limits.”

I barely managed a grunt as he leaned over and set me on my feet. I snagged one hand in the harness he wore in lieu of a shirt and held myself steady against him. “Yeah, I heard that about you. Don’t try to guess my safe word, okay?”

Bull barked a laugh, dropping one huge hand on my head to tousle my hair. “I want to hear more about this story of yours, little spy, if it has _that_ kind of information in it.”

Before I could come up with an answer, Bull had his attention turned to a blond man in burnished armor and furred pauldrons. I snapped my eyes back to the qunari’s chest. Commander Cullen, in the flesh. How many times had Patrick and I joked about me _cheating on him digitally_ with the former Templar? How many times had he seeped into my dreams? Patrick had always benefitted from my in-game romances, as I’d turn the computer off and take my real-life husband to bed.

I once again found myself _desperately_ hoping this was all just a dream.

Bull was talking again – but now it was that Russian-sounding language, and Cullen – sweet Jesus, Cullen fucking Rutherford – was answering in kind.

I was in Thedas. And only The Iron Bull understood me.

Somehow, that was the piece of information that made me believe this wasn’t just a dream.

If I was dreaming this, I would _definitely_ be able to talk to Cullen.

“Alright, little spy,” Bull said, the heavy hand on my head turning my gaze up to meet his. “Tell the Commander what he needs to know to save all our asses.”

“Any time now, forward scouts are going to report an invading force – the bulk over the mountain – bearing no banner. They have a dragon, and are led by the Elder One, Corypheus himself. A boy will show up at the doors to warn you – his name is Cole, and he will do anything to help. The Elder One wants the anchor – the mark on the Herald’s hand – and nothing else will stop him. You have to evacuate. Pull back to the Chantry. Chancellor Roderick, prick that he is, knows a back way out. He’s the only one left alive who remembers – everyone else died in the Conclave.”

As Bull translated, I took a moment to glance around. Solas and Cassandra went up to the Temple with the Herald; the elf was likely at his hut up the hill behind me, and Cassandra would be near the Chantry doors with our soon-to-be Inquisitor. Dorian would be kicking around somewhere – he, at least, I felt no trepidation towards meeting – as was Sera, since Bull said she’d gone to Redcliffe. Varric was likely at the fire, which was directly to my right…

I turned towards that spot, expecting to see the dwarf and instead seeing Cassandra Beast-Mode Pentaghast coming down the hill, accompanied by a female qunari with a glowing green hand.

 _The Herald was Vashoth_.

Of course, the one play-through I had never completed.

Adaar, then. I would learn her first name when I could. It was more shocking than it should have been; I expected this world to be the default, “canon” state. The Hero of Ferelden would be a Cousland warrior, Hawke would be a blood mage, and the Inquisitor was a rogue… and all of them male. That the Inquisitor was Vashoth – and her clothes said _mage_ to me – brought with it the likelihood that nothing in this world was the canon state.

It was something to worry about later; none of those things had any impact on the shitstorm about to descend on Haven.

“My lady Adaar,” I said as politely as possible when she came to a halt between Bull and the Commander. “My lady Pentaghast,” I nodded to the Seeker in time, knowing full well she couldn’t understand me. Did the Vashoth speak Qunlat? “Thank you for sparing my life. I wish I had awoken earlier, so I could have given you more time to act.”

As I spoke, I became aware that she was _beautiful_ in a way I didn’t think qunari could be. Her skin was decidedly gray, but with a lavender overtone that was quite lovely when paired with her vivid blue eyes. She was equally shocked to see me, either because she didn’t expect  me to be awake, or she didn’t expect me to speak Qunlat.

Hell, _I_ didn’t expect me to speak Qunlat.

“It was my pleasure,” she answered smoothly in English, and I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “You are of the Qun?”

I shook my head vehemently, and immediately regretted it. I raised my free hand to my head with a groan, clinging to Bull’s harness to keep myself upright.

“Should you be up?” she asked, concern filling her voice.

I loved her in that moment. “Honestly? No. I was down for too long, I am up and running too fast. I’m going to burn through my stamina very quickly. But we’re all in danger. Did you hear what Bull told Cullen?”

She shook her head, turning her attention to the Commander as the two men filled her in on my warning. I could pick out the words that didn’t translate – Corypheus, Chantry, Chancellor Roderick, Cole.

“Who is Cole?” she asked me, the concern building in a very comforting way – for me, at least. It meant she believed me.

Before I could answer, a woman cried out from the top of the gates. I felt three pairs of eyes turn to stare at me as Cullen, Cassandra, and Adaar heard the first confirmation that I really did know what was going on.

Josephine was suddenly there – surely asking what banner the force was marching under.

“Cole is coming to the door, you can trust him,” I told Adaar. Her eyes widened, but the pounding on the heavy doors and the weak voice pleading to be let in interrupted her next question, and she raced to the gates to open them. I saw the staff slung across her back as she ran, and my assumption about her class was confirmed. Poor thing, to be a qunari with magic. But she ordered open the door and I got my first glimpse of Cole.

His hat! It was not nearly as wide as the digital caricature I remembered, but it was otherwise the same.

“He’ll tell you everything I already said,” I told Bull, tugging on his harness to pull his attention back down. “We have to start the evacuation. Get everybody into the Chantry.”

“We’ll need confirmation from Roderick first, little spy,” Bull chided.

“Sure, whatever you say. Let _me_ get back to the Chantry and get the hell out of your way. Josephine can keep an eye on me if you’re worried about me, but you and I both know I’m as weak as a new lamb.”

“Point taken,” he said, and gently disengaged my hand from his harness. He called something – the only thing I could pick out was the Ambassador’s name – and then the Antivan had my arm slung over her shoulder and was helping me up the hill to the Chantry.

“Bull!” I called, turned away from her before we cleared too much ground.

“What?”

“Clear the men away from the trebuchet after it fires!”

“What? Why?”

“The dragon will target it!”

The qunari went still for a moment before a grin slowly broke over his features. “That is the best thing you’ve said yet.”

“Go get ‘im, Tiger.”

Roaring something foreign – probably calling the Chargers together – the kossith took off towards the gate, where Cullen was calling the troops to order.

Josephine was speaking to me then, and her voice was almost as melodious as the thin woman I’d met upon first waking, if missing the lyrical accent. It occurred me to, suddenly, that the raven-haired woman with orb eyes was probably an elf.

Elves and qunari, Haven and hats: nothing I had seen yet was what I envisioned, nothing was like it had been in the game. Haven was exponentially larger – the village could house hundreds, rather than the pitiful dozen huts that had been rendered digitally. The Chantry, also, was larger, with hallways branching off from either side and scores of clerics streaming every which way. The shrine to Andraste was at the back of the main space, where the war room doors should have been in my memory, and it was a massive golden glory. Easily ten feet tall, she was more lifelike than the greatest of the Renaissance sculptures. She looked more like a woman touched by Midas than anything created by the hands of men. I found myself pulling away from Josephine to get a closer look. They had somehow given her pores and miniscule blemishes. She was barefoot – and she had a mole on her ankle.

I really hoped – and I mean _really hoped_ – that this was actually a statue, and not some fucked-up, magically converted person-turned-sculpture.

Not that there was anyone around that I could ask.

“Andraste,” Josephine said helpfully.

I laughed, a bit bitterly. “Oh, I definitely know who Andraste is.”

“Andrastian?” she asked, pointing at my chest.

I shook my head. There wasn’t room in this world for a Maker _and_ the elvhen gods, and I knew the latter to be real.

“Qun?” she asked, a bit sadly.

“No, no, no,” I shook my head, vehemently. It seemed to rattle dully around my skull, and I realized I’d gotten a hell of a concussion when I’d fallen. I gripped my skull again, trying to will away the headache. I took a gulp of water, and it seemed to help.

Josephine seemed surprised at my denial of the Qun. Reasonable, given my language. She asked me something else, but it was a string of words I did not know, and all I could do was shrug. “I don’t speak your language, my lady, my apologies.”

She led me through the Chantry, away from the shrine to Andraste, and I was immediately lost in the turns. I guessed she was leading me to her office – trust Josephine to have work to do in the midst of a battle – but I caught sight of what _had to be_ an infirmary through a doorway and I turned on my heel. I could help, here.

I heard her voice behind me – a protest, most likely – but from the door to the infirmary I could see where I could help. There was chaos in the room – total chaos – and I flung myself into it. I half-staggered to where a man was lying on the floor, bleeding in a way that only happened when an artery was hit. I pressed the him to the floor, quickly unbuckling his belt and whipping it off him, threading it around his leg above the site of the bleed – low on the femoral, but definitely the femoral artery – and pulled it as tight as I could manage. The man seemed to get what I was doing, and helped me pull. The blood slowly trickled to a stop. I put my hand on his head and pressed him down onto the thin pallet he rested on. He caught my hand and pressed it to his lips, saying something that I guessed to be gratitude. I pressed my other hand against his cheek and moved on. Josephine was watching us from the door – our eyes met, briefly, before hers went glassy and she abruptly turned away.

I arrived in time to help two other people set a broken leg, and then held a piece of wood in place while it was splinted. Most of the wounds were pierces and slashes. I made tourniquets, put pressure on wounds, and bandaged what I could. A man was brought in gasping for breath and brought directly to me as I was the closest person to the door; the other healers in the room had quickly accepted me, regardless of the language barrier. I waved for the soldiers to place the man – in layers of whisper-soft leather that practically screamed _rogue_ – on one of the few remaining pallets. I placed an ear to his chest – desperately missing my stethoscope – and could tell immediately that only one lung was functioning. His trachea was displaced to the right – _sucking chest wound_.

“I need a needle, something thin to get between his ribs and relieve the pressure on his lung.”

A sea of confused faces.

I pressed my hands on the man’s face. He was young – too damn young – and Patrick’s visage swam into view. He’d deployed three times to two wars; how many of his friends, his Joes, had gone down this way? “I could save you if I had a fucking needle,” I told the rogue. “I am so sorry.”

A hand pressed into my shoulder, and a thin piece of metal came into my line of sight. I grasped it, spinning to thank my savior-

And came face to face with the Dread Wolf.

Solas apparently knew Qunlat. Or at least enough to know I wanted a needle.

“Thank you,” I stammered, and quickly turned back to the man. I rolled him onto his side and quickly slid the needle between his ribs. Air hissed out, a visible red cloud shooting out the end of the needle, and the man’s breathing immediately eased. Solas came between me and the rogue and placed his hand around the needle. The space between his skin and the needle glowed green, and then the needle was being slid out. The rogue sat up, blinking a bit in surprise, one hand to his chest. I watched him for a moment – his breath had evened, both sides of his chest moving equally, his heart rate slowing as I pressed my ear to his sternum to listen.

I patted his head, meeting his smile with one of my own, and then turned to find someone else to help.

Solas stood between me and the door.

“Do you speak my language? Or simply understand it?”

The elf – who seemed _ageless_ to me, but I was definitely biased – merely smiled.

“Something you learned in the Fade, right? Definitely the product of many years spent asleep, right? Thank you for your help, Solas.”

His eyes flew wide when I used his name.

“Don’t worry,” I told him, stepping around him to meet the next man coming through the door injured. “I will keep your secrets. _All_ your secrets. I have no desire to be your enemy.”

He dogged my steps after that, perpetually at my side, often just outside my vision. When more difficult cases came in, things the surgeons were ill-equipped to handle, I told him what I thought the problem was.

“Look at his eyes,” I said, as if to myself. “See how they’re different? If you cover his eyes for a moment and then lift your hand, the pupils don’t change with the change in light. He can barely hold onto consciousness. It’s probably pressure on his brain – he either took a blow to the head or had some underlying problem that the stress of the battle triggered. It’s either blood on the brain or swelling. Back home, we would remove a piece of his skull to reduce the swelling, but here? The risk for infection is too high, I can’t possibly…”

I was moved to the side again, and the ancient elf took the semi-conscious man’s head in his hands. The man’s eyes suddenly flew wide, and then rolled up into his head. Solas gently moved him backwards to rest on the bed.

“Did you put him out of his misery?”

His head snapped around to look at me. He shook his head – _no_ – sharply.

“Is he going to be alright?”  
A single nod.

“Thank you. We might not be able to get him out in the evacuation, though.”

Another sharp look.

“The Elder One wants the Herald. Nothing short of the anchor will satisfy him. Roderick is going to lead the evacuation out of here, down a path only he knows. We’re going to have to get all of these people out. Will he be awake in time to move on his own, or will someone have to carry him?”

Solas’ face was utterly expressionless. I tried to guess at what he was thinking – was he considering how much of a threat I might be to his plans? He had brushed honeyed tea on my lips as I slept – surely at some point Adaar told him she thought I was from the future? That is, if my shoes didn’t give it away. Or maybe they didn’t think I was from the future… maybe they had no idea what the hell I was, and he was running through the options as we stood here.

“I am not your enemy,” I asserted softly. “Regardless of what other conclusions you might have reached while I slept, I hope you can accept that one. I have no illusions of being able to stand against _you_. I don’t know your long game, but I know for the time being your goals and the Inquisition’s are aligned. I will do nothing to jeopardize that alliance.”

I could only be more obvious if I called him _dread wolf_ , but I lacked the testicular fortitude to even consider it.

A cold voice called to him from the doorway, and the moment was lost. I glanced over my shoulder to see Madame de Fer, likely passing word of the evacuation, if the look Solas shot me was any indicator. His voice matched the chill in hers, and it occurred to me that both of their voice actors had been well-cast, if not perfect.

What did that mean? Were the creators of Dragon Age creeping around here somewhere?  
Did I make it home, but to the wrong part of time? Did I help them make the game under some fucked up pseudonym?

How the hell did these two worlds cross?

And, maybe most importantly, why couldn’t I just keep believing it was a dream? Everything would be so much simpler if this could all just be a dream.

“You still alive, little spy?” Bull’s voice greeted me as I slung a large – but light – sack of bandages over my shoulder and carried it out into the congregational space of the Chantry.

“Much to your chagrin, I suppose. How did we hold up?”

“Could have been better,” he confessed. “But it could have been a lot worse. Not one man went down with the trebuchets, thanks to you.”

I grinned at him. “That’s good. That means I managed to save at least _some_.”

“You don’t want to save them all?”

“That’s complicated,” I answered, falling into step behind him. I had thought he was leading me to the way out, but when next I looked up, it was to find Adaar and Cullen arguing at the gates, Cole and Dorian nearby with Roderick slung between them.

“How is it complicated?” the Bull demanded. “I would think _everybody lives_ is the better choice.”

“You know better,” I scoffed. “Don’t give me that shit. _The Inquisition wins_ is the best choice. Do the troops fight as hard at the end if they don’t lose at the beginning? Does the Herald rest on her laurels if I tell her that her victory is predetermined? Does my mere presence fuck up the timeline? Does my being here make you more or less likely to win?”

It was clearly not what he expected from me. “You just spent the last two hours in the infirmary saving _individuals_. You’re not the type I would pick to play the long game.”

“I’ve seen the choices she has to make,” I said, tilting my chin towards Adaar, as she clearly came to the conclusion that she needed to stay behind to serve as a distraction. “They’re hard. She’s going to have to be hard to make them. There’s no way to make this easier for her, and softening the blow will only backfire in the end. I’ve seen what happens if she falls. That’s far worse than what happens here tonight.”

She had seen me, then, and came striding over before Bull had a chance to respond. “Well?” she prompted.

“You have a plan?”

She blinked. “Roderick is going to lead everyone out, and I am going to… I’m going to create a distraction.”

I smiled at her, as warmly as I could. “Find a way.”

She blinked again. It seemed to be her version of admitting surprise; Varric was going to have a hell of a time playing cards against this one. “That’s it? Bull told me you could see the future, and that’s all you’re going to say?”

“What happens if I tell you, and my telling you changes the way you act or the decisions you make, and thus alters the future? You know the future is alterable – it is already different from what you saw in the hell that was Alexius’ intention.”

She shuddered, once. “Alright, I can concede your point.”

“Be true to yourself, my lady,” I told her as gently as I could. “That’s all any of us can hope for.”

She nodded, and turned towards the door.

“Cullen is going to tell you to be sure that beast hears you,” I called out softly. She glanced over her shoulder but didn’t slow. She had one hand on the door when Cullen’s voice rang out, and she turned to fix me a brief incredulous look before pushing out into the first flakes of snow.

The Commander was in front of me, then, and I allowed myself to really _look_ at him. It was hard not to; he was clearly furious, and I was the apparent source of his anger. The scar on his lip was deeper and longer than the digital rendition, stretching up to his cheekbone and giving him a sneer when he was angry. He was older than I had pictured him, as well, or perhaps Kinloch and Kirkwall had aged him prematurely. He wasn’t _old_ by any stretch of the imagination, but I would guess 35, at least; a few years older than me. That would make him 25 at the time the Blight hit, and maybe not the brand-new templar recruit he was depicted to be.

But his hair was blond and his pauldrons were _definitely_ a lion’s mane, reddish fur that looked _warm_ in a way that made my hands hurt. I was already so _fucking_ sick of the cold, and if I survived the night it was just going to get worse. His eyes were a soft kind of brown, like melted chocolate. And he _definitely_ had earned the nickname Varric had given him; his hair was close-cropped in an obvious attempt at controlling his curls.

But he was yelling at me, and I should probably respond in some other way than giving him an appreciative once-over.

“I am so sorry. I wish I spoke your language. I wish I could let you know that she really will be alright. If me being here doesn’t change anything, she will survive this and make her way to our camp through the snow.”

He listened as I spoke, obviously frustrated by the language barrier but taking some comfort from my tone.

Cole appeared beside us and said something to the Commander. Cullen’s eyes lit up and he looked at me with a mix of surprise and joy. The expression completely changed his appearance; the scar gave his smile an endearing lopsided sort of quality, wiping away any trace of the sneer.

But Cole’s intervention derailed that train of thought.

“Can you understand what I’m saying?” I asked the spirit in young man form.

He looked me in the eye and nodded.

“You don’t speak my language, though.”

He shook his head.

“So you’re getting this out of my thoughts? You are reading my thoughts, even though they’re in another language?”

A smile, this time, as he nodded.

I couldn’t help it; I burst into tears and flung my arms around him. He said something soothing, patting my back, and I tightened my arms around him.

“Will you help me learn Common?”

He nodded his head again.

“Oh, bless you. You precious cinnamon bun, I love you so much.”

He pulled out of my arms and fixed me with a very confused look.

“Never mind. We have to get everybody out of here.”

Another nod, and then we were moving. Cole helped Dorian carry Roderick out of the Chantry, and I tried to stay close to them. Roderick’s pace was painfully slow, but I wasn’t capable of much more. Trying to stay with him would force me to be stingy with my limited reserves of stamina.

I ultimately didn’t have the option of setting my own pace. The bandages were lifted from my shoulder from behind and tossed over my head to a man with an ugly scar on his neck, starting just below his ear and disappearing into his leather armor. Before I could glance back to see who was lightening my load, I was in the air and over somebody’s shoulder, once again upside down.

“The fuck…”

“Boss says you’re running on empty,” a voice said in broken English. _Qunlat_ , I silently reminded myself.

I had gotten a quick glimpse of dark hair as I’d been flipped over his shoulder. I could only think of one human who would have a reason to speak the language of the qunari _and_ refer to someone as _boss._

“Krem?”

“That a good guess? Or are you really what the Boss said?”

“That depends on what the Boss said,” I answered, trying to get one elbow propped on the back of Krem’s armor so I could be at least parallel with the ground and reduce the pressure on my aching head. “I’m not a spy. I’m definitely a wiseass. And I have no idea what the relationship is between where I came from and where I am.”

Krem laughed, and it was a lovely sound. “He called you a little spy from the future. He neglected the wiseass part. And he also didn’t mention you’re a lot heavier than you look.”

“Never tell a woman that, Krem,” I chided.

He laughed again, and carried me out of the Chantry into the softly falling snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will update tags in the next day or two.


	4. Pt I Ch 4: Carving a Space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after Haven is lost, conversations are held to define character and place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am undertaking a rather extensive rewrite, to account for the revelations in Descent and Trespasser. However, since I've finished the DLC, updates should be a bit more frequent, if still irregular.

One of the Chargers – there were dozens of them, far more than I had been led to believe by their presentation in-game – handed me a bit of jerky and dried fruit that might have been apples and cherries, along with a new water skin when we finally stopped for the night. Krem – who had been done no justice by the artists rendering him – led the Chargers off to help set up tents once theirs had been erected and I was stashed inside. For awhile, it was just me and a massive pile of bedrolls and compressed pillows. I burrowed into the bedding and worked on pulling the pillows out of their compression sacks, fluffing them while chewing diligently on my rations.

I had no idea what the meat was that had been dried into jerky. And the fruits were _off_ in a way I couldn’t pinpoint in their dried state. I was hungry enough to not give a shit. It could have been soylent green and I was pretty sure I would have eaten it anyways.

I could feel myself slowly sliding out of crisis mode. There wasn’t anything for me to do, nothing for me to focus on; I had done my best and now all I could do was wait and see what happened. The adrenaline leeched out of me, and I could feel a tremble building in my hands. I would be crying soon, from the stress and shock. My brief outburst of relief when Cole could understand me in the Chantry was nothing to the hysterics brewing in my immediate future.

Luckily, my exhaustion and recent illness combined to render me too tired for tears. I had fallen asleep in the mountain of bedding when The Iron Bull came in. His heavy footfalls woke me up before the tent flap had closed behind him.

“Fancy yourself a Charger, little spy?”

“Not even remotely,” I yawned. “Just doing my part.”

“Sleeping on the job is _doing your part_?”

“I’m warming up the bedrolls for when the come back. They’re out setting up the tents. I would likely curl up in the snow somewhere and die if I was out in this mess.”

Bull barked a laugh. “You’re probably right.”

“How fares the home team?”

If he didn’t understand the phrase, he caught the meaning. “Cullen says Cole can understand you. Says you told him in the Chantry that she was going to find her way to us through the snow.”

“Those are both accurate statements.”

“So where is she?”

“She fired the trebuchet and dropped an avalanche on Haven, yes?”

“Yes.”

“The first rumblings of the avalanche uncovered a series of old tunnels. She dove into one and avoided the landslide. However, it was a hell of a drop and she was already pretty roughed up by Corypheus. She’s going to lay there unconscious for awhile. Once she wakes up, all beat to shit and befuddled, she’ll make her way out of the cave system. The anchor will have new powers, which is good because there are a few demons in the cave. We lost some things in the storm, and she’ll use them to track us to here. If me being here hasn’t changed anything, of course… I don’t know how long she lays there unconscious, but she’ll show up in the middle of the night. I don’t know if it’ll be tonight or tomorrow.”

I could almost track the flicker in his emotions as he worked through everything I said.

“I don’t know where the cave is… not well enough to direct you to it and find her,” I told him when the silence had stretched on too long. “And I really, _really_ hope my being here hasn’t changed anything. I’m terrified that I will make her harder or softer, that I will fuck up the timeline and throw everything into disarray.”

“Which is a great excuse to not help us, and a better way to avoid responsibility if something you tell us backfires.”

“Hey, fuck you, buddy,” I sat up, offended. “As soon as I knew what day it was, I did everything I could to get your asses out of Haven. _You_ are the one who insisted on having Roderick confirm what I said before you acted on it. Not that I fault you for it, I sure as shit wouldn’t have an easy time believing me if I was in your shoes. Actually, I _don’t_ believe all of this is happening, not really. I’m still praying I wake up in my own bed, with my husband beside me and my heated mattress pad turned up.”

That seemed to give Bull pause. “Husband?”

“Spouse. Significant other. Other half. Marriage partner.”

“No, I remember. I saw the ring, after you told me before, I just… assumed you were a widow, I suppose. Why would a married woman work as a healer?”

“My world is completely different than Thedas,” I told him with a sigh. “Too different to explain, at least for now. Short story, _yes_ I am married, and _yes_ I would rather be with him than be here, and _yes_ I am here against my will. I cannot think of a single reason I would up and leave my entire family to show up in Haven right as Corypheus attacks. That’s just dumb.”

“Suicidal, even,” Bull agreed.

“How good is Krem’s Qunlat?” I asked.

Bull rolled with the topic shift. “Almost fluent. He’d be better if he didn’t think about it so much.”

“Permission to pick his brain?”

Bull shrugged. “Granted. He won’t tell you anything he shouldn’t.”

“Fair enough,” I replied, and snuggled back into the bedrolls.

“I’m off to watch for the Boss,” Bull said, making his way back to the entrance to the tent. “Anything else I should know?”

“She’ll be half frozen,” I shrugged. “She’ll be beat to shit and as weak as she was when she went up to the Temple for the first time, as well, but the cold will be the worst of it. Have someplace warm ready for her.”

He swept out of the tent without a reply.

I was back to sleep within moments.

The sun was up – and the tent was full of snoring Chargers – before Bull returned. The snow had slowed but not stopped, the wind yet howled, and the sky was densely overcast. I had no memory of being woken up in the night and pulled from my mountain of bedrolls, but it must have happened because I was left with only two – mine, and Bull’s.

“You were almost right,” he said, nudging me awake.

“Mmm?” was all the more I could manage in response.

“She stumbled over the ridge just as the sun was coming up, as Cullen and I were giving up the watch. I told him she was coming in at the middle of the night, either last night or tomorrow. But besides that, you were dead on… the tunnel being exposed, unconscious in the cave, new weird shit with the anchor, demons in the tunnel, the whole thing.”

“Huh,” I wondered, rolling over. “I wonder whether my intervention fucked with the timeline, or if her stumbling in at the  middle of the night was creative license. It seems way more fitting to have her come with the dawn.”

“That’s your take?” he laughed, dropping heavily to the floor beside me. I kicked him the last bedroll, and he deftly unrolled it and crawled in. “You’re not happy that we just proved you have some kind of foresight, you’re wondering why you weren’t completely accurate.”

“Well, yeah,” I sighed. “If I’m not going to be completely accurate, I need to figure out where the margin for error lies, and how wide it is. I would hate to have you rely on a specific timeframe and have it be wrong. I don’t want to _harm_ anyone.”

“Again with the long game,” the qunari muttered. “You’re something else, little spy.”

“I’m not a spy. My name is Gwen.”

“Alright, Gwen.”

“Are we staying bunkered down today?”

“Not sure what a _bunker_ is, but we’re going to sleep through the storm. We’re defenseless here anyways, we’re trusting to the blizzard to hide us.”

“Mmm,” I agreed and rolled over. I was sandwiched between Krem and Bull now, and they put off enough body heat to almost offset the painful cold radiating up from the ground. The snow piling on the tent further insulated it, and the air inside was warmed by the breath of three dozen Chargers. I couldn’t really fathom how they’d all crammed into one tent – it was large, but not _that_ large – but I was grateful for the decision. I shifted so I was pressed against the qunari, and went back to sleep.

 

*

 

The Chargers woke up by general consensus sometime around noon, and the one who’d been tossed my pack of bandages – a Blight veteran who asked to be called Twitch – ventured out into the snow to see if the kitchen was running. He came back half an hour later with a hot roll of dense bread for everybody, including me, and an extra for Bull. I was still working on the waterskin I’d gotten the night before, but a handful of dried fruit was dropped into my lap by someone who could only be Dalish.

She was blond and lithe, with the glowing eyes I’d noticed on the raven-haired woman I’d met when I first awoke. She kept her hair pinned back behind her ears, which were obviously elongated. The front curved to a smooth point, while the back actually seemed jagged, like a serrated blade. “Knife-ears’ suddenly made a bit more sense.

More distracting for me was her vallaslin.  It was almost like tattooing, but it caught the light, somehow, and was thinner and more fluid than any ink work I’d ever seen. She definitely noticed me noticing. After passing around the fruit, she dropped onto my bedroll beside me and gave me what could only be a challenge.

“She wants to know if you have a problem with her,” Krem told me from his seat a few paces away. He and I had been sitting almost facing one another, cross-legged on the cold floor.

“I have never actually seen vallaslin before,” I answered, never taking my eyes from hers. “It’s breathtaking. I knew it was beautiful, but to _see_ it is something else. I am admiring, and do not mean offense.”

I watched her expression flicker as Krem translated my answer. He asked Bull – who was sitting somewhere behind me, but nearby – for clarification on a couple words, which the qunari helpfully supplied.

“Oh,” the elf replied when he was done. I gave her my best smile. Given I was the only one on Thedas with access to modern dentistry, my best smile was something to be reckoned with. After a moment, she grinned back.

“She could kick my ass nine ways to Sunday and never break a sweat. There is probably very little that I can do that she cannot do better, and faster, and with more grace.”

“Careful,” Bull rumbled. “You’ll get labeled an elf-lover.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He chuckled a bit darkly. “Some humans develop an… unhealthy fascination with elves.”

“Ugh,” I spun around to face him. “Like a child molester or something?”

“Something like that.”  
“No, my husband was _male_ and _human_. I’m not a creep. I just… don’t think race is an acceptable measure of a person. Anyone can be a piece of shit, regardless of their height, ears, horns, or humanity.”

Bull tipped his head back and roared with laughter. “That might be the best thing you’ve said yet.”

“Yeah? Better than the news that you were going to fight a dragon?”

“That asshole barely touched the ground. You were just teasing me.”

“There will be plenty of other opportunities for you to fight a dragon, Bull. I wouldn’t lead you astray.”

“You know, you might be alright, Gwen.”

“Well, thank you. I appreciate the glowing recommendation.”

It wasn’t long after my confrontation with Dalish that several of the Chargers wanted to know more about me.

“You translate, Krem, the practice will be good for you,” Bull said, leaning back and crossing his ankles.

“Meck – that one, beside Dalish – wants to know how much you know about everyone.”

“Ah,” I paused, choosing my words carefully for Krem’s sake. “I know nothing at all about some of you. I know a little about some. And I know a lot about a few. Krem, and Bull, I know a lot about. I know a little about Dalish, and Grim, and Stitches. The rest of you are strangers.”

“Why them?” Krem translated for Meck.

“That’s a hard thing to answer,” I warned the Tevinter interpreter. He made a _come at me_ gesture, to which we all laughed.

“Okay. My information about Thedas comes from a game we play in my world. It is a very complicated game, but imagine if you had a _choose your own adventure_ book with the Herald as the main character. Does she recruit the Chargers, or not? Does she approach the mages, or the templars? When she visits the mages, does she give them a full alliance, or conscript them?”

Krem put his hands up, begging for a break. I gamely waited for him to catch up.

“So are you from the future?” he asked once he’d translated the rest of my words thus far. It seemed to be a question of consensus.

“I don’t know. Thedas is imaginary, in my world. Fiction. It only exists in the game. There are no dwarves, no elves, no qunari in my world. There are no dragons, no darkspawn, no Blight, no demons. At least, not outside of stories.”

“You live in a world of only humans?” Bull chimed in, aghast.

“I do.”

“What happened to everyone else?”

“As far as I know, there never was anyone else. We’ve always been alone.”

“How do you treat your mages?” Krem asked – on Dalish’s behalf, it seemed.

“We don’t have any.”

“You _what_?” Krem gasped, not bothering to translate – everyone seemed to understand the negation.

“There is no magic.”

“What does that even look like?” Bull breathed.

“We have spent hundreds of years perfecting machines,” I answered, and grinned as Bull waved Krem silent and took over the translation. Apparently I was exceeding Krem’s grasp of Qunlat. “We have machines that bring water up from deep underground, and we use it to grow crops in the desert. We have machines that can fly, and carry hundreds of people, or mail, or _things_ , around the world at hundreds of miles an hour. We have machines in our ships, to make them bigger and faster, so they don’t rely on the wind to move, and they can carry thousands of people across the ocean in mere days. We have machines that can make a picture of your bones, so we can see if things are broken or out of place. We have machines that let you talk to anyone in the world who has one, no matter where they are… just so long as you know the right sequence of numbers, you can talk to them. We had machines that let you _see_ someone on the opposite side of the world, as if they were standing right in front of you, and have a conversation as if there was no distance at all.”

“How…?” Krem whispered.

“You stand on the backs of your forbearers. Each discovery, each breakthrough, is made possible by the work of the men who came before you. You might go to school for 18 or 20 years, all told, and that would only get you general knowledge about the world and specific knowledge in one subject. Everyone in my country starts school by the time they are 5 and they’re encouraged to stay in school until they’re 18… that’s supposed to give you a basic education. After that, you can join the military or go to work or keep going in school. I went to school for four more years, became a nurse – a healer – and then got married. Patrick, my husband, went to the military and was sent to war. He went back to school to become a teacher, and that’s when I met him.”

The sea of astonished faces was almost amusing – _almost_.

Meck leaned forward and asked something, which Krem translated after swallowing a couple times. “What does a war look like, in a world like that?”

How do you explain advanced weaponry to a society of magic and blades?

“Many countries – the major countries, the _superpowers_ – have weapons that can destroy entire cities. Hundreds of thousands of people, dead in an instant. If they don’t kill you right away, they’re also poison, and they will kill you slowly, terribly. And if you don’t get a big enough dose to kill you within a few weeks or months, you will get sick when you get older, and die horribly _then_. We agree not to use them, but keep them around as a deterrent to the others.”

The silence was so profound it made my ears ring. No one _breathed_ for long enough that I became uncomfortable.

“We still have famine, and disease, and war, and bigotry. We hate each other for the color of our skin or the names of our gods or the deeds of our ancestors. We have the capabilities to feed the world, to cure disease, to shelter the weak… we just don’t do it as well as we should. It is beautiful and ugly, wonderful and terrible, and it is _home_. “

“That is our future?” Krem asked, on Dalish’s behalf.

“I don’t think so. I don’t know what the connection is between your world and mine. I don’t know how your world became the setting for a game in my world. I don’t know how I got here… we don’t  have _magic_ or _portals_ or _time travel_ in my world. I must have been _brought_ rather than _sent_ , but I don’t know why. I don’t remember leaving, and I don’t remember arriving. But I know things… I know how Bull lost his eye, and why. I know Grim doesn’t talk and Stitches is aptly named and Dalish has a lovely _bow_ and isn’t fooling anyone.”

The Chargers burst out laughing as Bull’s translation caught up. Dalish blushed prettily, but didn’t try to argue.

“I know the decisions the Herald will be faced with, and I know what the repercussions are of each option, but I don’t know what choices she will make. I know what all the options the Hero of Ferelden was faced with, but I don’t know what choices he made, either.”

“She,” Bull corrected me, mid-sentence.

“See? I don’t even know who rose to become your Hero, but I know all of her companions, I know what happened at Ostagar and that the arch-demon was slain in Denerim. And I know who _might_ have been her allies, but not who she chose to form alliances with. I know _where_ she found the old warden treaties, but not _how_ she chose to use them. Does that make sense?”

“You read all the pages in the book, but you don’t know which ones were actually turned to,” Krem offered.

“ _Exactly_ ,” I congratulated him. “Exactly so. And it is the same with Adaar… I know what all the pages say, but I don’t know which ones she will turn to.”

“So how do you know about us?” Krem prodded.

“Because it’s more complicated than a story book. What if she comes to the tavern on a certain night, who would be there, who does she talk to, what do they say? How does she reply? Does she choose to drink?”

“Maker’s breath, this is a _game_?” Krem asked.

“In a world where you carry around a little device that connects you to everyone else on the planet, as well as every library and every musician and every museum…? Yes, our games are complex. It takes a lot to amuse a population that spoiled.”

Bull snorted at _spoiled_. “Entitlement must be a bitch of a problem.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” I laughed.

“Stitches wants to know what medicine is like in your world.”

“Oh so complicated,” I laughed. “You tell Stitches that as soon as I learn Common I’ll teach him everything I know.”

The chirurgeon leaped to his feet and pointed at his arm. He started saying words and pointing at various places, and it took me a moment to realize he was naming off the bones. It was the first place I started when I learned human anatomy, as well. Laughing, I stood in front of him and dutifully repeated the words after him, which absorbed most of the rest of the afternoon as the Chargers either listened in – laughing – or broke away into their own conversations.

A flask got passed around as the sun started to set. Krem tossed it to me and I tipped it towards their Captain. “Horns up,” I told him before taking a swig.

It was apparently the right thing to say. I had the Common equivalent yelled to me from all corners of the tent, and I repeated it back-and-forth with Stitches until I had it perfect.

“Horns up,” I said in Common, taking a second pull before tossing the flask on to the next Charger.

“We’ve got a healer,” Bull said, tipping his chin at Stitches. “You’ll have to take up arms if you want to be a Charger.”

“I’m a housewife,” I scoffed. “I am way too old to fuck around with learning which end is the pointy end.”

“Housewife?” Krem chimed in. “I thought you said you were a healer?”

“No reason I can’t be both,” I answered evenly. “Did somebody tell Queen Asha that she had to stop being a Queen once she was somebody’s mother?”

“No, but that’s a _Queen_ ,” Krem translated for Stitches. “She can do as she pleases.”

“Different world, remember? I worked 30 or 40 hours a week, and made enough to pay for my food and clothing and shelter. I had a well in my yard and a pump that brought up the water, right to my kitchen. I could stop at a café and buy my dinner, take it home with me. Everyone could live like nobility, if they were skilled enough to have a well-paying job.”

“So what did your nobility do?”

I found I didn’t really want to continue this line of inquest. “Whatever they want, really.”

“Some things are the same everywhere,” Bull chuckled.

“Yeah,” I agreed, making my way back to my bedroll. The Chargers stayed up, laughing at talking, but I was almost instantly asleep.

 

*

 

I must have gotten through whatever sleep deficit I was suffering under, because I awoke promptly at dawn, as the sounds of life started to penetrate through the snow-covered canvas of our tent. Bull was gone, but the rest of the Chargers were packed in and snoring.

I peeked out the tent flap, already discouraged by the idea of walking through heavy snow in my all-stars. There was a path melted right to the door of our tent, the ground exposed – and bone dry.

“I fucking _love_ magic,” I muttered as I ducked out of the tent to see where the path would lead.

All the different trails – I looked back often to fix the path to the Charger’s tent in my memory – led to a large center clearing, where a series of tents were facing into a semi-circle and what must have been the kitchen staff scurried around a set of makeshift stone ovens.

Cole was suddenly in front of me, hands thrusting something towards me that smelled like honey and yeast and heaven. He said one word, definitely a question, and I had an idea.

“Was that the word for bread?”

He shook his head, _no_ , although a slight smile twitched at one corner of his mouth.

“Was that the word for breakfast?”

He shook his head again, and the smile grew wider.

“Was that the word for hunger?”

He nodded and then shook his head.

“Did you ask me if I was hungry?”

An avid head nod.

“What’s the word for yes?”

It wasn’t that far from my own version – a y-sound at the beginning and a schwa for a vowel. It weighed in between the German “Ja” and the informal American “Yeah.” I was pretty sure I could remember it.

“Yes,” I said to him in Common. “Hungry.”

He handed me the bread as if it was a prize I had won.

“Will you help me? Learn to speak Common, I mean?”

“Yes” he said, using the word I’d just learned.

“Wonderful.”

By the time Bull found me, I had learned the words for _no_ , _please, thank you_ , and _excuse me_. Cole seemed very happy that those were the first words I wanted.

“Boss is looking for you,” he announced without preamble.

I stood and gestured for the hulking qunari to lead the way, but he just pointed at one of the tents opening up into the clearing. “She’s in there.”

Of course she was. I stepped across the baked-dry earth and scratched on the indicated tent flap.

A voice called out in Common, what sounded like it could be _come in_ but I didn’t want to risk it.

“Bull sent me to speak with the Herald?” I called back in English.

“Shit, sorry, yes, come in,” I heard Adaar scramble within, and I tugged open the tent flap just as she arrived at the entrance to usher me in. She was in rough shape; bruises showed as vivid purple – almost black – smudges on her hazy skin. She was dehydrated and exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes, sunken cheeks, and a sick sort of pallor to her skin. Her cowl was pulled back to expose curling white horns, tight against her head, and a mass of thinly restrained, tightly braided black hair disappearing down her neck.

“Can you say that again? The words in Common, I mean.”

She smiled, showing fairly straight – if pointed – teeth, and repeated the words until I was comfortable with them.

“They mean _come in_ ,” she verified.

“Wonderful, thank you. Cole has agreed to help me learn Common. I was never very good at learning languages, but I have never had such a good reason to motivate my study.”

She sighed, and gestured for me to sit at the table in the center of the tent. She had as much space to herself as the Chargers shared, albeit sparsely furnished. The table was a long oval, surrounded by five chairs.

“Josephine, Leliana, Cullen, you, and Cassandra?” I asked, pointing at each chair as I spoke the names.

She shook her head with a smile. “Yes. We have no war table to huddle around anymore, so this must suffice.”

“How are you feeling?”

It surprised her. “I… don’t know, honestly, I’ve only been awake for a couple of hours. Thank you for asking. I believe I am well.”

“Hungry?” I asked, using the same word Cole had.

She laughed. “No, thank you.”

“No, thank you,” I echoed in Common.

She laughed again. “You are a quick study.”

“We are almost through my entire vocabulary. _Yes, please, excuse me,_ and _horns up_ , is all I have left.”

She tipped her head back and laughed again, a rich sound that was impossibly contagious.

“Already you’ve spent too much time with the Chargers.”

“Krem knows Qunlat – although I would call it English – so while you were away it was the best place for me to be.”

“Yes,” she said, squaring herself in the chair to face me. “About that. I spent the time I’ve been awake talking to The Iron Bull. He has passed along much of what you’ve said about your origins and your memory.”

“Kind of him,” I replied, smiling.

“I needed less convincing than Bull,” she assured me. “I saw you tumble out of the portal, glanced just briefly into the world behind you. I don’t have words for what I saw, but it was like nothing in Thedas, nor the Fade.”

“I needed more reassurance than you!” I laughed. “I am not sure I _yet_ believe I am actually here.”

“He mentioned that, as well – that you believed yourself in a dream, because we are all characters in a story.”

“More or less.”

“Can you tell me this story?”

Her eyes were the giveaway, I decided. Her face was stoic, her posture perfect. But her eyes were wide and a bit glassy; she was afraid of what I might say.

“If I tell you that you win, will you sit on your laurels? Will the knowledge that you succeed weaken you so that you fail? If I tell you that you fail, will you quit, and guarantee that fate? Will you do as Cullen said, and focus instead on _how spitefully you end it_?”

She blinked – that barest admission of surprise – and studied me for a moment before hazarding a reply. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t either. I know what _might_ happen. But I also know that at any moment, you could fail. You can be slain, or lost, and we all fall with you. I know that nothing is certain. I know what route you might take to victory, but I cannot make you strong enough to walk that path. And I do not know what I can and cannot say to be sure you survive to the end.”

She took a shaky breath. “So my death is not inevitable?”

“No. And neither is your success, nor your failure.”

“So what is it, then, that you can do for us?”

“I can promise to guide your steps as best as I am able. If there is a specific outcome you want, I can help you find it. Your companions will all face trials in the near future, and I can help you help them. But more than anything else, I can swear to you, on my life, that I will do everything in my power to see to it you triumph. Furthermore, I will do whatever I can to minimize the loss of life, of the innocent and of the Inquisition.”

“As you did in Haven.”

“Precisely so.”

“You told Bull I would arrive in the middle of the night?”

I nodded. ”That was how the story played out for me in the past. I do not know if you were early or late, or whether time will be the margin for error that I must try to navigate.”

“Very well. What do you require from us in return?”

“What do you mean?”

“You provide this service to the Inquisition, what do you get out of it? What do you seek from us?”

“I am flattered that you think I am in a position to negotiate.”

“Aren’t you?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t know how I got here. I don’t know how to get home. I am scared shitless of your world. If you just agree to keep me around and keep me safe from this madness, I am content. I do not require any specific boon to keep the world from ending.”

I got the blink again. It was starting to get the feel of a game: what can you say to get Adaar to blink?

“You seek asylum?”

“If that’s what you want to call it. I’m not like Dorian, your Worship.” She flinched at the address and I bit back a grin. She was definitely the non-believer type of Herald. “I can’t pack up and go back to Tevinter. Bull says you _killed_ Alexius, the person who apparently summoned me here. We don’t have magic in my world; nobody is coming looking for me and I can’t go back on my own. I don’t speak Common – not yet – so I can’t exactly wander around and try find work as a healer. And even if I did, the best place to work is for the Inquisition.”

She snorted, and gestured around the tent. “Yes, the glamour that is the homeless Inquisition.”

I smiled. “Give it time.”

Another blink. “Is that a hint?”

“You don’t need any help from me on this. Someone already has the perfect place in mind. Just concentrate on getting yourself better and the solution will present itself.”

She breathed out slowly, dragging the exhale out. “If this is all you ever do, merely tell me when not to worry about something, you will be worth your weight in gold.”

“Then I can stay?”

“You staying was never in question,” she said with a dismissive wave. “You are driving too easy of a bargain, my lady, if all you want is to stay.”

“Is that not what most of your companions wanted? To stay, to belong, to get in on the ground floor?”

“On the surface, perhaps,” she said, although her tone had lost the overlaying formality. “Sera and Vivienne are building connections, as well as making sure the networks they already have stay intact through the war. Blackwall was cast adrift, and came along for information and protection. Varric was coerced into coming at the beginning, but he stays because he can sell our story. Cassandra, Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine all came at the behest of the Divine, which is another form of obligation altogether. And I outright _hired_ Bull.”

“What of Dorian? Or Cole?”

She smiled. “Perhaps they, at least, are like you.”

“I contend that they all are. The people you have collected around you are with you because _this_ is the right side of history. _This_ is the good fight. _This_ is where you can make a difference, where you can protect your lives, your homes, your _world_. Everyone is a little bit mercenary, I won’t argue that. But sometimes the payout is getting to say you were right.”

“Can I trust them?”

Oh, what a question.

“Can you trust each of them to dedicate themselves to defeating Corypheus? Yes. Yes, they will all fight at your side through this," I answered carefully, not wanting to lie or give too much away. “But I would be lying if I said they had all given you their full stories. There are many lies of omission in your ranks. Varric, for example… where the _fuck_ did that crossbow come from?”

She tipped her head back and laughed, again. “Do you know?”

“I _do_ know. But he might kill me if suspects, so I will keep that to myself. But don’t worry, you stand to become the first person he ever tells that story to.”

“And they all have secrets?”

“Everyone has secrets. You are an apostate mage, you should know that better than most.”

It sobered her, as I had meant to.

“And my secrets? Will you keep them?”

“I will keep every secret, for so long as my silence will not cost anyone their life. If I can save someone with my information, I will give it up with alacrity, I promise you.”

“I believe you,” she asserted, leaning forward to lay one of her hands over mine. They were not as massive as Bulls, but I was still dwarfed by her.

“I trained as a healer, for lack of a better term,” I told her after a moment. “I would like to work at improving the infirmary, if I may, and help your surgeons overcome some of their more harmful beliefs.”

“Absolutely,” she quickly agreed.

“And once we get set up in our new home-“

“Our?” she echoed with a faint smile.

“May I consider myself part of the Inquisition?”

“We would love it if you did,” she agreed, and I realized she was teasing me.

“…I would like to have some say in the planning of our new space. Not anything strategic, mind you… More along the lines of sanitation and hygiene. I can reduce the risk of disease, and help control vermin and _odor_ while I’m at it.”

Another blink. “Anything you ever want to do to reduce the smell of living in a city, _please_ feel free to implement at your earliest convenience.”

It was my turn to laugh. “My honor, your Worship.”

“Yes, about that…” she started again, leaning forward.

“My name is Gwen,” I interrupted gently.

Her answering smile was like the sunrise. “I am Hellen.”

“May I call you Hellen, my lady Adaar?”

“For the love of all that is good in the world, _please do_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, woah, long chapter is long. Is this too long?


	5. Pt I Ch 5: The Long Walk Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations in Inquisition camp.

My tête-à-tête with Hellen was rapidly brought to an end by Cole's enthusiasm and Mother Giselle's insistence that the Herald get more rest.

I would have liked to stay and chat with Hellen – she was really a lovely person, it seemed – but Cole was eager to continue our lessons, and the Herald was far too important to have her time monopolized by the likes of me.

Cole led me around the camp by the hand, dutifully telling me the Common word for everything I took a fancy to. I quickly learned _fire, bread, water, soup, tent, man_ and _woman_. Common seemed to be similar to English in that it was gender-less, thank _god_ , and sentence structure was close to what I was used to. But there was very little similarity in the words themselves; this was definitely not a romance language I was learning.

By mid-afternoon I could hear the advisers arguing, but only when we passed by Hellen’s tent. It was no where near so obvious – or dramatic – as what had been portrayed in the cut scene.

I tugged Cole’s hand towards the argument, and he tried to pull back against me for a moment. My memory of the song of Mother Giselle seemed to win him over, and he went along with my urging.

Hellen was sitting on a boulder-turned-bench by the fire with Mother Giselle, obviously uncomfortable in her company. One by one, the advisors fled the tent, varying degrees of anger on their faces. I saw Leliana for the first time, and the calculating look on her face when our eyes met chilled my blood.

When Mother Giselle starting singing, I grabbed Cole’s hand and held it against my heart. He grinned at me.

The words in Common rhymed; I did my best to try to translate them to myself. Cole seemed to be watching me work through the lines in my mind, and approved of the translation I knew.

“The dawn will come,” I told him, in what was surely heavily accented Common.

“Yes,” he agreed.

 

*

 

Solas appeared to have a word in private with Hellen, and I couldn’t hide my grin. It was happening like it was supposed to! We would be leaving soon for Skyhold, I was sure. I asked Cole if there was anyone who had managed to get out of Haven with an extra pair of shoes that were more waterproof than my canvas chucks.

He disappeared with a laugh, and I went to find Hellen.

To my surprise, she was fuming.

“He won’t tell me where this place is that he expects us to journey to! In the snow, in the mountains!!” she declared as soon as I was settled across from her at her table.

“So?”

Her jaw snapped shut – another blink.

“I’m supposed to blindly trust him.”

“Has he been wrong yet?”

“Well, no.”

“Do you have any better options?”

I got only a scowl for an answer.

“What did he say when you asked him?”

“Only that to the north, there was a fortress waiting to be held.”

“Seems pretty clear.”

“ _Where_ to the north? What kind of fortress? Is it occupied?”

I sighed. “Where are we, right now?”

“Fucked if I know.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright. So, if you don’t know where you are, why does it matter? If he told you it was due east of whatever town, it wouldn't mean anything to you.”

She furrowed her brow at me but stayed silent.

“He told you the fortress is empty when he said it is waiting to be held. I mean, there might be some birds or some shit in there. But for a giant-ass fortress hanging out in the middle of the fucking Frostbacks...? There’s not much more you can ask for.”

“Wait, this is what you were talking about? This is where we’re meant to go? Are you fucking serious?”

“He saved your _life_ , Hellen,” I half-shouted, incredulous. “You can’t take his advice on which way to hike when you’re lost?”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I had to trust anyone but myself?” she shot back.

“Great! This will be a _fantastic learning experience_ , then.”

Her eyes flew wide, and I remembered – a bit belatedly – that this was a _qunari mage_ I was yelling at.

“I apologize,” I said, and then immediately followed it with the Common equivalent: “I am sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” she said, reaching out to again cover my hand with her own. “You’re right. You might be the only person willing to yell at _me_ , and I apparently need that. The time to demand proof is not when you are being guided out of the woods.”

“It is if your guide is not trustworthy,” I corrected, eager to compromise. “But yours, is. He has already saved you once, Hellen. He will save you again if he can.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Why does Solas save you?”

“Yes. Why.”

I took a shaky breath. That was a dangerous question. "Many reasons. Your goals align with his. The orb is elvhen... it is important to him to retrieve it. He's already lost everything, and it is possible he will find a friend in you." I took a slower, calmer breath, reassured by the mollified expression she bore. "And to be honest, I cannot imagine anyone who studies the Fade could be able to look out at the Breach and not want to do anything at all possible to close it. Beyond that… Solas’ motivations are his own.”

“You know what they are, of course.”

“As I do all of your companions, yes.”

“And he is trustworthy?”

“Much as I said earlier… he has saved your life before, and he will do so again. My vision is limited to the next few years, so I can’t say _anyone_ is infinitely trustworthy. But for the time being, yes. Yes, his motives align with your own.”

“Then we march north.”

I slipped out of the tent, then, as she called for messengers and started moving the ponderous machine that was the Inquisition. I paused for a moment outside to capture my bearings, and look for Cole or one of the Chargers so I was sure to help rather than hinder. The first eyes that met mine, however, belonged to Solas.

He was far enough away from the tent as to appear nonchalant, but something about the sharpness in his expression told me he had heard every word.

Gathering up my courage, I walked across the clearing to him. Already, supplies were being gathered and scouts were being deployed. We likely would not march until morning, but the intention was clear.

“Ma’serannas,” he said as I drew near.

“You are welcome. I do not expect trust. I intend to earn it.”

He merely inclined his head, and I took it as dismissal as much as acceptance. I had taken three steps away when Cole suddenly appeared – with thick sheepskin boots in his hand.

“Oh, you are my _savior_ ,” I gushed, taking the proffered footwear.

I learned _boots_ , _snow_ , and _cold_ on the way back to the Charger’s tent. I declared it a productive day.

 

*

 

The march began the next morning, as I had expected. What I had _not_ expected was the royal treatment I got from Bull and his Chargers.

“They’re afraid you’ll fall behind,” Krem confessed the third time I was lifted onto somebody’s shoulders for a ride.

“I’m flattered,” I laughed. “But why do you all care?”

“You said you’re just a housewife,” Krem said, walking beside Grim, whose shoulders I was currently held captive on. “They’ve been talking about that a lot, and most everyone seems stuck wondering what would have happened if one of their mothers or sisters was to suddenly fall through a portal into another world. They hope she would be treated... well. The way they've all agreed to make sure you're treated."

“So I’m the adoptive Mom of the Chargers?”

Krem laughed happily. “There are worse things to be.”

“You’ll fucking _hate_ my cooking,” I laughed.

“Sounds like most of our mothers,” Krem retorted.

“So what are my obligations, as Charger Mom?”

“Oh, don’t go asking for it,” Krem urged. “Just take the honor and run with it.”

“No, really! Do I need to knit everybody an ugly sweater for the holidays?”

“Please, no!” Dalish called when Krem translated the question.

“Just run with it,” Krem said again.

“It’s hard to run when I’m sitting on Grim’s shoulders!”

“You know what I mean!”

I spent much of the afternoon on Bull’s shoulders, much to the amusement of Hellen Adaar.

“Isn’t it colder up there?”

“Much,” I agreed, and the two qunari laughed. “But my feet are warm, and that is a trade I am currently willing to make.”

“I don’t know as my feet have _ever_ been cold,” Hellen mused. Bull shook his head – gently, so as not to sweep me from his shoulders with his horns – “Yeah, me neither.”

“Superior qunari physiology,” I demurred. “You should be so proud.”

“Is that jealousy I hear?” Hellen teased.

“Yes, ser, it definitely is.”

We chatted for an hour or two before Hellen was drawn off, and I convinced Bull to let me down. There was a wedge of mages at the front of our column, and they melted down the snow – and fairly thoroughly dried the earth beneath it – so that our path was largely clear. They, by necessity, set our pace; we walked slower than any of us would have liked, but faster than we would have traveled through several feet of new snow.

Since my path was clear, I was warmer moving about on my own.

I had scarcely an hour walking about before Krem was at my side. I ducked away, certain he was there to toss me over his shoulder, or help some other Charger wrangle me into the air. He immediately gave chase.

“Wait!” he laughed. He rattled off a string of words that were quite likely profanities as he dodged and weaved through the column to try to catch up to me. I was pretty sure I’d managed to evade capture when I ran full-on into Commander Cullen.

I caught a face full of furred pauldrons, but he had stellar reflexes and his hands shot out to catch me before I could tumble to the ground.

“I’m sorry, I’m trying to get away from Krem,” I told him, knowing full well he wouldn’t understand me.

He replied – a long string of completely incomprehensible words – but his sentence _also_ ended in "Krem."

Likely he told me that was the only word he’d understood, which amused me greatly.

I smiled at him, and was able to meet his eyes just long enough to see the smile returned when a pair of hands closed around my waist and I was airborne. I got the barest glimpse of Krem’s head before I was flung unceremoniously over his shoulder.

“No! I want to _walk_.” I complained, and then used one of the few Common words I’d acquired: “No!”

“I was just trying to get you and Sera together, she wanted to talk to you,” he told me as he started back towards the Charger’s place in the column. Cullen’s voice cracked like a whip behind him,  drawing him to a sudden stop. He whirled around to face the Commander.

I was upside-down, but I managed to look under Krem’s elbow and saw the smile gone from Cullen’s face. I couldn’t pick out much of their conversation – I’d only been learning the language for a few days, after all – but from context I guessed that Cullen had heard me say _no_ and was following up on it.

“Ha! Defending my honor,” I cheered. “Take that, Cremisius!”

“Augh, you’re trouble today,” he said, before immediately turning his attention back to the Commander.

Bull appeared a few moments later, pausing only long enough to pick me off Krem’s back and lift me up to sit on his shoulders. “You causing trouble for Krem?”

“No,” I complained, “I just want to _walk_ for a bit. It’s warmer if I’m walking.”

“That why you ran from him?”

“That, and I was feeling playful. Happy, even. And Krem was laughing, so I went with it.”

“Tell the Commander that Krem did you no harm.”

“Put me down and I’ll do you one better.”

Bull immediately set me down. I stepped to Krem’s side and threw my arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the cheek. Bull burst out laughing as Krem stepped back awkwardly.

“Thank you,” I said to Cullen in his own language.

His response – which was surely _you’re welcome_ , I just hadn’t learned it yet – was delivered with another smile.

I threaded my arm through Krem’s. “I would love to chat with Sera, so long as my feet can stay on the ground for awhile longer.”

“You’re a right pain in my ass, you know that?”

“Still like your mom?”

“Exactly like my damn mother.”

“What did Sera want?”

“What everyone wants. She’s curious about what you know, and brave enough to walk up and ask you about it.”

There wasn’t enough time to further inquire after Sera’s desires, because the elven thief materialized through the crowd and darted over to walk with us. She started rattling off questions to Krem.

He argued with her for a moment – likely encouraging her to be patient and only ask one question at a time – before beginning to serve as our interpreter. His face was turned down into a thoughtful frown; his use of Qunlat was likely being stretched and expanded continuously by translating the world for me.

“First, she wants proof. She wants-“

“She wants me to say something about her that I wouldn’t have any way of knowing. I know. Pretty standard. Tell her, _pride cookies_.”

“What?”

“Pride. Cookies. The emotion, and the baked good.”

“I don’t know that word, the _baked good_. Cookies?”

“Ah, fuck. The Qun don’t have cookies, I forgot. Um. Small, round, crispy, sweet. Baked. Completely ruined by raisins.”

“Oh!” He quickly said a word that I hadn’t heard before. I mentally filed it way as _cookies_ in Common. “Why would you have cookies made of pride? How is that-“

“Just fucking _tell her_ , Krem.”

He turned to Sera and said two words, adding _pride_ to my vocabulary.

Sera stopped dead in her tracks, and was almost run down by Dalish and Grim, walking in companionable silence behind us. I halfway expected her to catch up, demand an explanation, but she vanished into the crowd behind us.

“What did I just say?” Krem asked, surprised.

“Everything I tell people as _proof_ is going to be stuff they don’t want to talk about, Krem. I’m not going to make her miserable by talking to anybody else about it, and you probably shouldn’t ask.” I shrugged. “Be careful what you wish for. She wanted proof, I gave her proof. I think she realized she would rather not know.”

“All you had to tell me was my name. I trust the Boss when he says you know things you couldn’t otherwise.”

“You also got to hear me say when the Herald was going to return to camp. Not to mention all the reactions you’ve seen as you’ve been translating for me.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

Word spread that I had completely unnerved Sera with only two words, and nobody else approached me for _proof_ on the long march to Skyhold. And it was definitely Skyhold we were marching to: it took us days, slowed as we were by the snow, having to transport all our worldly possessions, and making  & breaking camp for hundreds of people every night. It was striking how, already, hundreds of people seemed like a lot. I’d  been one face in a crowd of thousands before – tens of thousands, even. I’d gone to festivals with a thousand other people and thought it small and intimate. The amount of coordination it took to move even the few hundred of us between the ruins of Haven and the promised security of Skyhold was a continuous miracle. I couldn’t help but think it was largely thanks to Cullen. Josephine’s operations were crippled until we had a home base for crows to return to, so she could be in contact with her allies. Leliana was focused on her scouts and making sure nothing came across us unawares. The vast majority of the work to move the fledgling Inquisition was falling directly onto Cullen’s shoulders.

I found myself looking forward to the time I could tell him that I recognized his hard work.

My language skills were improving every day, but not as quickly as they might have if I didn’t have Bull and Krem to talk to. Hellen was in too high demand to spend much time anywhere, but even the ability to share a few words with her as we crossed paths during the day was a chance to use my native tongue. Cole, I found, was working to isolate me from the Chargers during the day, surrounding me with people speaking Common so that I learned the language via immersion. It was touching; he wasn’t just helping in the way I had asked, he was actively seeking out ways to help me communicate. He could pick the gratitude right out of my brain, as well; he knew how intensely appreciative I was.

He could also hear my thoughts when we finally crested the ridge that granted us our first view of Skyhold.

“Sweet baby Jesus on a muffin, that’s fucking _huge_.”

“Why is he on a _muffin_?” Cole asked, all the words in Common but for the last.

“It’s intentionally ridiculous,” I answered absently. “It’s a way to feel like you’re swearing without saying anything _really_ offensive.”

He asked me something else, but I didn’t get a chance to pick it apart before I was tackled, landing heavily in the snow under what I quickly discovered was an elated qunari.

“ _This_ is what we’re going to settle in? Tell me it’s real!”

Laughing, I returned the nearly violent hug as Hellen picked me out of the drift we’d topped into. “This is _so_ real.”

“The fortress? Or the world?”

I realized, then, the two completely different questions she’d asked with one four-word demand.

“Is there where the Inquisition settles in my memory? Yes. Do I honestly believe I am here, and not dreaming?” I hesitated a moment, searching myself to make sure the answer I was about to give was a truthful one. “Yes. Yes, I think I’m here. I don’t know how and I don’t understand why, but I have long since given up hope that this is a dream.”

“Hope?” she asked as she took my hand and dragged me down the long slope towards the valley dominated by Skyhold.

“Hope,” I agreed, and hoped that by not expanding on the statement, that she would drop it.

She did not. “Why did you hope you were dreaming? Is it not better to be awake and alive, rather than in a bed somewhere, perhaps slowly dying?”

I sighed. “I hoped I was having a wonderful dream, and that I would wake up and tell my husband about it, maybe laugh about it with my mother over a cup of coffee. I would write the story and share it with my friends, maybe publish it somewhere for others to read and get amusement out of. I hoped that living this life did not mean I had lost the one I already had. I loved my life.”

It sobered her, as I had hoped not to do. “I did not think… I apologize, Gwen. It did not occur to me that saving us meant losing yourself.”

“It is no different for you,” I offered. “How many people will chose to ignore your past, your heritage, in the name of what you can do for them, for the Inquisition?”

She stumbled, as if shocked or wounded. “Are you like Cole, to pluck the words from my mind?”

“I am not,” I assured her. “I am rather making a statement about how we could empathize with each other. That you were thinking it at the same time as me only underscores the point.”

She squeezed my hand briefly before letting it go. “I am sorry for your loss, Gwen. But I am more glad for our gain.”

“As you should be. As everyone should be, after the Conclave, and after Haven. We have all of us lost something.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she conceded.

“Ah, Hellen, you’ll find yourself saying that a lot, I’m afraid,” I quipped expansively.

It had the desired effect: she immediately laughed. “I’ll have my work cut out for me, keeping your ego in check.”

“I have an infant’s understanding of your language and I’m functionally illiterate. My ego is barely limping by.”

“As it should be,” she parroted my words, and we both laughed.

She strode away, then, calling out to others as she went. I heard her call a very public _thanks_ to Solas, as well as what surely was a commendation to Cullen – the two men most responsible for bringing us there.

And then we were at the gates, and the real work began.


	6. Pt I Ch 6: Stars and Cisterns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn about Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Subtitle: Keepin' it Real
> 
> Posted early as a thank-you to Grimmcake.

The first day, we filed into the derelict keep and slept under the stars, the high walls keeping most of the wind out and the heat from the fires in. It was brighter, inside the walls; the reflection of the firelight back towards us dulled the stars for the first time since I’d arrived. I found myself climbing the one staircase that had been determined sound, to stand on the ramparts, huddled into my hoodie in a corner to keep warm. There was not one constellation that I recognized from my youth, but I had already begun to learn new patterns in the heavens. If the stars were different, shouldn’t that prove that this world was not my own? There was no _Blight_ anywhere in human history, no where it could have fit in _pre_ -history. And even if it had… the stars would be in slightly different places, but I would be able to pick out familiar constellations. If this took place in our own far future… still there would be traces in the sky. If not leftover satellites, then at least the North Star. We would yet be spinning around the same point in the universe.

The stars here were the stars from the astrariums in the game, and not the Milky Way of Home. The only explanation I had found for my knowledge of this world relied on my being from the far future. I could reason that a proof the worlds were not connected could be proof that this world was all in my head. The change in the stars was the one thing that made a tiny corner of my heart hold out hope that maybe,  _maybe_ , this was all a dream. Maybe I would go to sleep one night and wake up to find myself in a hospital bed, Patrick sitting at my side, clutching my hand in excitement to see my eyes open.

“Are you lost, little spy?” A rumbling voice interrupted my reverie.

The diminutive was becoming a term of endearment, it seemed. I had stopped fighting against it when I’d realized he no longer meant it.

“I am so very, very lost, Bull.”

He leveraged his bulk onto the flagstones beside me, and immediately I was warmer. My view of the sky shrank, but he blocked out a bit of the light from the fires below us, and what I could see was brighter.

“You look at the stars every night, I’ve noticed.”

“They’re different,” I confessed. I hadn’t verbalized the thought before, and it sprang out before I could decide whether I wanted to. “I keep looking for some sign that it is the same sky… it is the same color, after all, and the sun looks much the same. I had thought there were two moons, but I’ve only ever seen one.”

“Luna,” Bull agreed, glancing to the east to see it had not yet risen. “Satina is only visible about half the year, but once she appears in the sky, she’s present all day and night. Satinalia is on the day that she is highest in the sky.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense. How long before we can see her?”

Bull shrugged. “A while, as she set a few weeks after the Conclave exploded. It’s hard to judge if you travel much. I left Par Vollen once with Satina just cresting the horizon, and got to Seheron two weeks before she was visible. I don’t know what being in the mountains will do, either. Should see her sooner, I would think.”

“Wait, so Satinalia is celebrated on a different day around the world?”

“It’s usually celebrated for a week or more, so it matters less. But, yes, I suppose it is.”

“I look forward to seeing her, then. Satina.”

“Back to the original concern. What is the connection between the stars and feeling lost?”

“It is impossible to squash the hope that I am only dreaming, when faced with a sky that proves this world is not my own. Were it merely a different time – thousands of years in the future or in the past – then the stars would be at least similar. The constellations might be spaced differently or positioned a bit differently, but not enough for me to notice. I would be able to find the North Star, the dippers, and the seven sisters. If I was in a different part of the world, I may or may not see the others, but maybe I’d see the Southern Cross instead. The point is that I would recognize _something_. This is all... alien.”

Bull started to respond, but before he could form a word, he was interrupted.

“Bull, I need you to' (something something something) "with me this evening,” Cullen said as he bounded up the last step onto the ramparts to speak with the qunari beside me. I was likely hidden behind Bull’s bulk. I hadn’t made out most of what Cullen had said – my Common being rudimentary at best – but I guessed it involved planning out the defenses and organization of Skyhold. The task would consume all of the Commander’s time for the coming weeks.

“Hellen said I could help plan the layout of the keep,” I told Bull quietly, as he stood to answer Cullen’s summons.

“What would a housewife want to contribute to defensive planning?” Bull asked, turning towards me. Cullen seemed surprised I had spoken; he definitely hadn’t seen me.

“I don’t know what a housewife could do in a place like this. But a healer from an advanced society might be able to advise you on how to minimize the risk of disease. As the Inquisition grows, you’re going to have a lot of people jammed in here. I can help you avoid pestilence and set up a sanitation system. If you’re willing to work with me, we’ll hold onto this _unoccupied_ aroma for a lot longer, and keep the place from smelling like shit. And I mean that literally.”

Cullen was watching me curiously; Bull and I were speaking in Qunlat/English, of course, and he couldn’t know what we were talking about. Bull didn’t need long to consider my offer. “Come on then, little spy. I’ll translate for you and the Commander.”

I stood quickly, and he reached down to pick me up and settle me on his shoulders. I could only pick out one word out of every four or five in his discussion with Cullen – mostly articles and prepositions, so nothing of any use – but judging by their tones, Cullen seemed cautiously optimistic about my claims. He had a table set up at the foot of a stairwell – a location I recognized from the game, where Cullen and the newly named Inquisitor have their first conversation in Skyhold – and Bull set me down just as Hellen strode up.

“Good,” she said in Common, and it was quickly apparent she was talking to Cullen. She rattled off a few sentences – of which _Gwen_ was the subject, so I didn’t have to wonder what they were talking about – and then ruffled my hair as Cullen conceded to her demands. “I told him to listen to you, since your world _obviously_ knows how to keep people healthy.”

It was a very thinly veiled compliment, and I immediately suspected it wasn’t actually what she said. “That’s not what you told him, though, is it?”

“I worded it a bit differently,” she confessed, winking at me before being whisked away by Josephine calling for her from somewhere up the stairs.

I glanced at Bull, but his face betrayed nothing.

Much of what they decided that night was nothing I had any influence on. I did, however, get Cullen to agree to let me explore each area of the keep as it was declared structurally sound, so that when the time came to actually make changes I would have an educated opinion. The first steps needed were to map out the current floor plan of the sprawling structure, including determinations of load-bearing walls and which areas were intact enough to use in their current states. Once that was complete, and the immediate needs of the Inquisition were met, the assignments of rooms, prioritization of repairs, and needs for modernizations could be determined.

Cullen had no idea how right he was, when he called them _modernizations_.

I was headed back to the space that the Chargers had claimed when Hellen broke free of Josephine and diverted me.

“I’ve got a room in the keep. Big, enclosed, smelly, dark thing. I’m used to sleeping outside. If I have to suffer indoors, you’re suffering with me.”

“You’re requisitioning me as a roommate?” I laughed.

“You’re used to sleeping in a pile with the Chargers, it’ll be a change of pace. It’s good for you. Or something.”

I let her lead me out of the courtyard, into the tower adjacent to the gate house, to where an elf – who looked suspiciously like the one who’d met me when I’d awoken in Haven, only more warmly dressed and less terrified – was putting the finishing touches on what looked to be an ancient bed.

“Will that thing hold weight?” I asked. Without waiting for an answer, I dropped to my belly and crawled underneath to inspect the underside of the mattress. There was a spiderweb of new ropes strung across the bed frame as supports, and the mattress above looked to be new.

“Josephine says they saved the feathers of the geese we ate on the way here,” she informed me. “We didn’t manage to get any poultry feed out of Haven; we were going to lose the flock. I don’t know where she got the material to form the mattress, but it’s very much Josie’s style to smuggle out a bolt of wool and have it stitched into mattresses once we were settled.”

The elf, smiling, engaged in a short conversation with Hellen before bowing her way out of the room. “Lytha confirms it; Josephine had a bolt of wool, and three of them made five or six mattresses today out of it.”

“How damn big are your bolts?”

Hellen shrugged. “I’m no seamstress.”

“Fair enough,” I allowed, glancing around the room. The bed was large, but not overly so. The only other thing in the room was a screen and two buckets.

“There are four rooms on this floor in this tower,” she told me as she leaned against the wall and tugged off a boot. “The largest is being shared for the time being by Leliana and Cassandra. This is the second-largest; I tried to get one of the smaller ones but Josephine wouldn’t hear of it. She’s in the smallest room. The last room was going to go to Cullen – so all the advisors were in one place – but he pretty flatly refused. He’s put a cot into what was our command tent, and has promised he will at least _pretend_ to sleep for a few hours tonight. Josie was going to try to sneak a mattress in there for him. Vivienne has the last room.”

“Fair enough. So tell me again why I’m here?”

Hellen had pulled her other boot off and was diligently stripping out of the layers of her armor. She didn’t answer for so long that I had decided she wasn’t going to, and was looking for a graceful way to exit an awkward situation when she suddenly sat down heavily on the stout footboard of the bed.

“I’m terrified,” she admitted in a rush. “I got us here, I closed the Breach… now what? Corypheus wants me dead, someone’s going to try to assassinate the Empress of Orlais, there’s some mysterious demon army somewhere waiting to strike… everyone is looking to me for answers and _I don’t have any_. And somehow I don’t feel like I can say this to anyone but you.”

I smiled at her gently and crossed the room to lean against the bed beside her. “You can tell me anything, Hellen, any time. I understand, I really do. It’s alright to be afraid.”

“Is it? Is it, really?”

“Sure it is. Emotions are always okay. It’s how you express them that might get you into trouble. For example, you shouldn't randomly start screaming every time somebody asks you a question, as you might start to worry your soldiers.”

She laughed, a bare whisper of a sound but it was _there_ and it was the first step.

“What do you think you should do?”

She cast a sidelong glance at me. “Fortify Skyhold. Settle us here, establish this as permanent. We will not run again.”

“That sounds good. Then what?”

She frowned for a bit. “Leliana is waiting for her birds to be rounded up, so we can imprint Skyhold on them as their new home. From there she’ll work on re-establishing her network. Josephine is already writing up a storm, and will send out messengers soon with letters to her closest allies to tell of Haven’s loss and the Inquisition’s survival. Cullen is… well, you already talked to Cullen. You and Bull are going to help him fortify Skyhold.”

“That’s what your advisors are doing. What do _you_ do once we’re settled?”

“I don’t have the foggiest. I didn’t think I’d ever say this, but I _miss_ our war table."

“An interesting thought. Anything stopping you from getting a new one?”

She turned to look at me as she considered the question. “No. No, there is not. With a new war table, I could _see_ where our forces are scattered to, and figure out how to pull everyone back together and regroup.”

“Well, fuck, Hellen, that sounds an awful lot like a plan.”

She laughed again, a bit stronger this time. “You aren’t offering me _anything_ and yet you make me feel so much better. I may never understand how you do it.”

“Most people don’t want advice,” I told her. “Most people already know what they want to do, they just don’t have the confidence to admit it – maybe not even to themselves. How many times have you known how you wanted to approach a problem long before your _advisors_ have proposed their solutions?”

She grinned at me. “That has happened once or twice, perhaps.”

I shrugged. “You are capable of making the hard choices, Hellen. When you get right down to it, that’s your job. Trust your gut. You got us here – got us to Skyhold. You can get us out of this mess Corypheus has put us in. Keep that in mind. You really can do this, I promise you.”

“And _that_ is why I asked you to room with me tonight,” she told me as she draped an arm over my shoulder. “Ten minutes together and I feel completely different about our chances.”

I leaned my head against her shoulder. “Glad I could help. If I get to be someplace warm in the mix, I’m not going to complain.”

“Do you mind?” she asked, tipping her head towards the bed. “I shouldn’t have assumed you would be comfortable-“

“Sleeping alone just makes me miss Patrick more,” I interrupted. “I was doomed to snuggle with a qunari tonight… If I were to walk out of here right now, I’d have a bedroll between Krem and Bull.”

Her laugh returned. “I don’t recall making any offers about snuggling,” she argued.

“Also acceptable. Pick your side, your Worship.”

She grumbled good-naturedly and took the side of the bed nearer the door. I methodically stripped out of my hoodie, button-down, sneakers and blue jeans, pulling my bra off from under my camisole. I considered leaving my socks on until I realized there was a metal heating pan at the foot of the mattress.

“What did you say the woman’s name was? The black-haired elf you were speaking to?”

“Lytha,” Hellen answered as she crawled under the layers of blankets. The fireplace hadn’t been cleaned or cleared, so no fire was lit and the air temperature was still bitterly cold, if warmer than outside. I could see my breath in the candlelight, but the mattress provided far better insulation than the bedroll I was accustomed to, and I was well on my way to being blissfully warm within moments of settling into the bedding.

“Tell Lytha I greatly appreciate having pre-heated sheets.”

Hellen breathed a laugh, already sinking into sleep. “I’ll help you tell her yourself.”

 

*

 

We decided to stay in bed the next morning until somebody came to find us and _make us_ get up. We could hear the sounds of activity outside, of animals being moved and people conversing; without windows it was impossible to tell how long we had slept, but given the tear Cullen was on, it was likely no more than an hour after dawn.

We expected to be woken early, and we burrowed under the blankets to talk about memories… mostly of our childhoods. I gave her a brief outline of my life and the people in it, but we shied away from the topic quickly. It was easier to put out of my mind the people I had left behind, than to think too long on what might be happening in my absence.

Hellen was the only child of a pair of Vashoth mercenaries-turned-merchants. They could only really supply other mercenary companies, as few others would trade with them. They had died in the Blight, when the mercenary company they had been travelling with ran into the fringes of the darkspawn horde west of Lothering. The men who had survived had taken Hellen with them when they fled to the Free Marches, and she had just stayed with them. They had mages imbedded with them, and they had seen the signs in Hellen and helped her through the first years of her magic.

She didn’t focus on the darkness, though, and we didn’t linger over the loss of her parents or her flight from Ferelden. She told me happy memories, of making an apple tree full of buds bloom all at once the day her magic manifested, and of the party the Vashoth mercenaries threw celebrating the event. She had known, then, that she would have a place in the world; they knew they had the makings of a powerful healer in their midst.

I had been surprised at the reaction. I had initially pitied Hellen for being a mage. The qunari were particularly harsh on their mages… but her company had rebelled against everything the Qun had stood for. If the Qun wanted mages silenced, her band wanted them celebrated. The Thedas I found myself in was so much more vibrant and complex than anything they could have portrayed in a mere video game; I was again faced with the idea that I never would have dreamed it this way… I must be really here.

I was telling Hellen about my big brother when the door swung open and we fell immediately, comically, silent.

“I know you’re in there,” Josephine said, and I thrilled at understanding the simple sentence.

Hellen rolled over and poked her head out of the side of the bed. “Of course we are,” she said back; “it’s cold!”

I found myself grinning like an idiot. Two sentences in a row were comprehensible! The majority of the rest of their exchange was lost on me, but I was nonetheless thrilled with my progress. When the covers were thrown back a few minutes later, I was shocked to my toes to find Josephine crawling under the blankets with us. She had stripped to her shift and slid into the warmed space between Hellen and me.

“Oh, so much warmer,” she said, and I grinned my agreement.

“Welcome,” I said, and her answering smile was the sunrise. “I know… little… you said,” I struggled to tell her in her own language, and her smile widened.

“I can translate, Gwen, it’s okay,” Hellen told me in Qunlat as she drew the blankets back over us, setting a bolster on its side above Josie’s head to create a tent around our faces.

“I am better!” I insisted, in Common, to which Hellen laughed and Josie quickly agreed.

“I try very hard,” I continued, feeling my face draw into a frown as I concentrated on the alien language.

“Stop,” Hellen laughed, also in Common.

“Oh, Hellen, let her (something)!" Josie said.

“Shit, I didn’t get that last word,” I told Hellen sourly in Qunlat.

Hellen threw her head back and laughed, and repeated my words in Common to Josephine before saying, “She said practice,” and then repeated the word until I could parrot it back to her.

“Let me _practice_ ,” I said in Common, and they both cheered.

The door to the room was thrown open hard enough to bounce off the wall and slam itself.

“Are you in there, Josie?” Leliana demanded. I was afraid enough of the Nightingale to be immediately sobered, but I couldn’t help but notice Hellen and Josephine grinning like old friends, and practically quivering with the effort of not giggling like schoolgirls. It raised my hopes that Leliana wasn’t batshit crazy in this universe.

I could hear her stalking cross the floor, and I gathered my courage enough to call out – in Common – “Come in! Is warm!”

Hellen’s eyes widened comically, and Josephine clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the laugh.

Leliana muttered a long string of words I couldn’t catch, but it got Hellen to laughing so hard that her eyes watered and Josephine covered her face and shook. Leliana was smiling when she peeled the blankets down low enough to see our faces lined up across the pillow, and she shook her head fondly.

“Get up,” she said, in a tone that allowed no argument.

She was met with a trio of sighs and eye rolls, but ultimately compliance. Josephine’s dress had been laid neatly over the screen, while Hellen’s armor was in a pile on the floor next to my own clothes. Josephine eyed my jeans as I buttoned my shirt, and asked Hellen a question I didn’t catch.

“Josie wants to know if you’re open to wearing dresses, or if you prefer pants, like Cassandra and Leliana.”

“I have no problems wearing dresses,” I told her in Qunlat, watching Leliana’s eyes narrow as I spoke. “I tended to wear pants more often, but in the summer I found skirts cooler and more comfortable. My biggest concern is with keeping warm in the perpetual winter we’ll see this far into the mountains.”

“The blizzard was late,” Hellen replied. “We’re well into Spring now, it will thaw a bit soon. I can’t promise it will be _warm_ up here, necessarily, but it will be better. No more snow for a few months, at least.”

I finished dressing while she translated our exchange for the other two women. Leliana seemed to like me a lot less when I was speaking in Qunlat to Hellen. The faster I could learn Common, the less likely I was to be shanked by the Nightingale.

“I try very hard,” I told Leliana in Common. “I learn fast.”

Her eyes widened slightly as she processed my statement.

“Hellen, how would I say _earn_?”

The Herald told me the word, and I immediately tried it out on Leliana. “I will earn trust.”

“Gwen!” Hellen protested. “You are trusted!” she insisted in Qunlat.

I shook my head. “Not yet,” I answered in my broken Common. “Will _earn_ trust.”

Leliana either didn’t have an argument, or didn’t deign to comment. Hellen finished belting on her armor – the only thing she had in her post-Haven wardrobe – and led Josie and I from the room.

The sun was bright but low – Cullen must have had people hopping well before dawn. The Commander himself was directing teams to different corners of the keep, to check for stability and eliminate infestations. Animals found in the structure were to be captured or killed; anything capable of bearing weapons needed to be reported. I breakfasted with the Chargers, and as teams reported back that areas were deemed safe, I was allowed off to investigate. Krem and Dalish joined me, along with Twitch and Grim. Twitch was apparently a budding architect, and he eagerly sketched out each room – with fairly accurate dimensions – as we explored.

I quickly decided that I _loved_ whoever had built Skyhold. Each level of each tower had a small room off to the side with a row of holes carved into a long stone bench. A crumbled wall showed the sloping stone channel cut into the walls, to carry away whatever was deposited into what were undoubtedly toilets. There were pipes coming into each room that we eventually traced to the roof, where a huge cistern sat.

“Rain water!” I told Krem.

“Why are you so excited about plumbing?” He asked, amused.

“Where did you shit in Haven, Krem?” I retorted.

“Cut a latrine in the woods,” he answered, nonplussed.

“How did that smell?”

He shrugged. “Like a latrine.”

“How do most cities smell?”

He blinked, started to catch on to my line of thought.

“We all use these. We _teach_ everyone to use these. We use the cisterns to keep everything flowing downward. Nobody in Skyhold ever has to empty a chamber pot, ever again. Orlesian nobles show up and _Skyhold doesn’t smell like shit_. The Inquisition can look down their nose at the _barbarian_ Orlesians, who force their servants to haul shit around. You see where I’m going with this?”

Krem nodded, looking a little overwhelmed at the implications of sanitation.

“Take it one step further. Disease is carried in people’s waste. Not ever coming into contact with it means those diseases don’t spread. Keeping it in the plumbing keeps it from attracting vermin, who may be carriers of other diseases. Skyhold not only _smells_ good, its inhabitants are strangely healthy. A plague might sweep through and completely skip over us. How does _that_ look to the people who doubt the righteousness of our cause?”

“Woah, wait,” Krem said, waving me to a stop in the hallway. “You say all of this is possible with _plumbing_?”

“Darling, you don’t know the first thing about what’s possible. You just watch me work.”

We traced the toilet channels – I hesitated to call them pipes, because they were the product of carefully cut and placed blocks, and squared off rather than rounded – to the undercroft, where they met just below the lip of the floor, forming a huge chimney that vanished in the ice of the frozen waterfall.

“Can we get down there and see where it goes?” I asked Krem.

“It’s being taken outside the keep. Does it matter where it goes?”

“Are there wells anywhere? Does this waterfall supply drinking water to anyone down stream? Do we want to suddenly destroy their town with the shit of the Inquisition?”

“Can’t go outside without the Commander’s permission,” Krem said, gesturing for me to follow him. “I’ll send Dalish to go plead your case with the Iron Bull and he’ll get the ball rolling to get you down there on your turd-herding mission.”

“Thanks, Krem, you’re a peach.”

Krem and I continued through the keep, as Grim stayed with Twitch. Their job would likely take weeks to complete, if Cullen didn’t have several more people out sketching the layout of Skyhold. I was more interested in the places that could make-or-break Skyhold when a plague came through. Surely it was only a matter of time.

The kitchen was very basic. There was a dedicated cistern for it, though, and several pipes coming down to bring water to multiple places. One whole wall was dedicated to cavernous ovens that seemed to have been the home of thousands of generations of birds. I shuddered at the layers of feces and feathers.

There was an extensive warren of rooms under the kitchens, a whole understory that had never been created in the game of my memory. Most of them were little more than cells, intended for servant’s quarters, I was sure. Some of them were bigger – maybe for married pairs – and another section was devoted to little three- and four-room units, likely for servants with families. The multiple-room units had their own one-seat toilet and water source in the back of one room. The single rooms seemed to be arranged in clusters around a center water closet, as I had taken to calling them. It seemed the intention was there to be one toilet per four people.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” I said as I worked out the math.

“I didn’t catch that,” Krem replied.

“Don’t worry about it. Whoever built this place is a goddamn _genius_.”

“If you say so.”

“Oh, I do.”

He shrugged. "Looks kind of dwarven to me."

I found a long hallway then, with moderately large rooms, with a single water closet for every two. The very last room was the largest in the hall, and it had a toilet all to itself.

“Just found my room,” I told Krem, as I considered where the room was positioned.

“You think so?” he laughed.

“Yeah, I think this is right under the kitchen. It will be _warm_ here when the ovens are running.”

He expressed disbelief of the claim, and we found the nearest stairwell up – at the opposite end of the long hall – and paced out the distance.

“Shit,” he said as the steps between the stairs and the oven equaled the steps between the stairs and the room at the end of the hall.

“I am calling dibs on that room _right now_.”

Krem laughed. “You don’t want a room with a window? Get some sunlight?”

“I’ll come outside during the day for my sunlight. I want dark and warmth for sleep.”

“Whatever you say, Gwen.”

We found another layer of rooms under that one, set up in largely the same way. The stairwell leading down from _there_ was collapsed, and we marked it as a place for Cullen to send an expeditionary force. Krem was concerned about not knowing precisely how deep Skyhold ran, and in a world with dwarves and darkspawn I couldn’t really blame him.

We saw no sign of anything living in the lower levels of the keep, although we abandoned the search when the torch started to sputter. Another note for the Commander.

I picked a good place for an infirmary – dedicated cistern, three walls of windows, off the beaten path – and had a enough things I wanted to tell Cullen that I abandoned our venture in favor of finding something to write with.

Josephine was happy to provide me with a quill, pot of ink, and stack of thick paper. I stared at the feathered “pen” with enough consternation that she gave me a laughing demonstration. I practiced for a bit with water on my jeans before risking the precious ink and paper, which seemed to endear me to the Ambassador.

I made my list in the neatest hand I could manage with the unfamiliar quill, referring often to Krem to make sure I had remembered everything. I returned the writing utensils to Josephine and went looking for the Commander.

Luckily for me, he had Bull with them. Krem whispered to me that they were arguing over whether to send a party down to the base of the waterfall. Bull seemed to be winning.

“Alright, little spy,” he said upon seeing me. “Tell me yourself why I’m insisting we send _climbers_ down a _frozen waterfall_ just to see where the shit’s going.”

“First, if the pipe is blocked from a rock fall or whatnot, we’re going to have a big fucking problem by the time we notice the backup. Second, we need to make sure we’re not poisoning our own water – or the water supply of anyone downstream. There may be towns and villages using this water that didn’t exist when Skyhold was built. Third, if there’s some kind of septic system down there, I need to see it and figure out how to get it working.”

“Septic system? What the fuck is that?”

“A way to get _rid_ of the shit, rather than just deciding _out of sight out of mind_ is good enough.”

Bull gave me a long look before turning to Cullen and telling the Commander what I’d said. The _poisoning villages_ seemed to be the tipping point for Cullen, and he put up his hands in surrender. He made a note on what looked an awful lot like the list I had just made, and promised Bull he would send someone as soon as he figured out who was qualified.

“Alright, you won,” Bull said after translating Cullen’s words. “Let’s leave the man alone.”

I waved the paper I’d brought. “I have other things I need to tell Cullen about. You can stay and be involved, or I can get Cole or Hellen or Krem to explain all of this to the Commander.”

The Commander heard his name, and turned with an air of frustrated forbearance. The other three names I mentioned did little to help his attitude. Bull, who knew damn well how to read an audience, encouraged me to come back later.

“No,” I said, forcefully, in Common.

“What’s the problem here?” Hellen asked me in Qunlat, striding up to us.

“No problem, Boss,” Bull answered in kind. “Just trying to teach the little spy how to pick her battles.”

“I only fight the ones I know I need to win,” I answered, maybe a bit petulantly. “You’ll note I long since stopped complaining about you calling me _little spy_.”

Everyone who could understand me – which was everyone but Cullen – laughed. This, also, did not help the Commander’s mood.

“Cullen gave you a list, I’m sure,” Hellen told Bull. “I’ll handle Gwen, let you get back to work.”

It was a dismissal, but not unwelcome, and Bull took Krem and took off across the courtyard to where the Chargers were set up, albeit temporarily I was sure.

“How much of this is critically important?” Hellen asked me, glancing over the list, but handing it back with a shake of her head. She couldn’t read English, it seemed.

“I only wrote down the critically important things,” I told her, and she blanched. “But I also have solutions for all of these, I didn’t just bring a list of complaints.”

Hellen dutifully reported my words to Cullen, who sighed and settled in to listen. I noticed the line forming behind me, as messengers and various workers waited for their turn with the Commander.

I ran through the list quickly – explaining the location, specific problem, _reason_ it was a problem, and my proposed solution.

Cullen’s posture shifted quickly. He was watching me as I spoke, and then started taking notes as Hellen translated my words. I picked up a number of Common words in the process – unfortunately, _shit_ and _cistern_ weren’t the sort of thing that would come in handy often. At least, not in polite conversation.

“Last, the cisterns themselves. They all have snow or water in them, but there is _no way_ they’re clean. We can’t risk having anyone drink tainted water. Hellen tells me the blizzard was a late-season freak, and so I hesitate to rely on rain to clean and refill the cisterns. I know I’ve offered them up as the solution for the ovens already, but if there are mages who specialize in water or ice generation, we can get them to run a flood through each cistern to first clean and then refill it. That should wait until we know what’s happening to the outflow pipe behind the undercroft, but if we’re systematic about it the cleaning of the cisterns will alert us to any leaks in the system. We could repair them while they’re still only leaking water.”

“This is fucking genius,” Hellen said to me as she finished translating, ruffling my hair. “You got anything else?”

“Yes, but it’s not a problem for Cullen,” I admitted.

Hellen laughed and told Cullen what our exchange had been. He cracked a smile – the first I’d seen from him in days – and made a _come at me_ gesture. “Let’s hear it,” he said, and then told Hellen he would like to hear a problem that _wasn’t_ his to solve.

“Well, we have all these servants, right? And we’ll likely pull in more commoners as word of the Inquisition spreads. How many of them were digging latrines and emptying chamber pots in Haven?”

I gave Hellen a chance to stumble through the translation, as the _freeing up manpower_ hadn’t yet struck her as a consequence of plumbing. Cullen had the same vaguely startled reaction as Hellen when she passed on my words.

“We take just a few of those people, and give them a job you might not agree with, but just bear with me. Put in each of these water closets a towel and a bar of soap. We teach people to wash their hands before they leave the water closet. Somebody goes through and replaces the towel in each room every day, and replaces the soap if need be. We’ll go through a lot more soap, but we’ll consume enough livestock to give us a supply of fat to render down, so it shouldn’t cost us much if we’re careful.”

When Hellen had repeated all this to Cullen, he asked if there was a reason besides simple cleanliness – which was apparently already taught in the chantry and to both the mages and templars, if not to the extent I was proposing.

“When the mother of my profession made surgeons wash their hands before operating, the infection rate dropped from 45% to 15% with no other changes to procedure. Handwashing prevents disease. Period. If we could set up a station at the kitchen, too, and encourage people to wash their hands before eating, Skyhold will be the healthiest place in Thedas. It’s already going to be the best smelling.”

Cullen blinked as Hellen passed on my answer, and grinned ruefully at my conclusion.

“I’m done bugging the Commander,” I said then. “But I would like to get to the base of the cliff for myself and see where that pipe goes, once it’s been cleared as safe.”

He didn’t like it, but he agreed, and I let Hellen draw me away. The line behind me stretched around a corner and out of view; I had taken up far too much of the Commander’s time. The messengers were all sent away with new tasks, however, and it wasn’t long before sparks were jumping from the chimneys in the kitchens as mages sterilized the ovens with fire. A pack of dwarven stone masons – who had been working on the gates and walls in Haven – traced my footsteps to find the outflow pipe beyond the undercroft, and were dispatched to find its ultimate end.

I found myself ensconced back in the bed in Hellen’s temporary bedroom, exhausted after a long day spent exploring the keep. I was asleep within minutes of my head hitting the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter is long, back by popular demand.


	7. Pt I Ch 7: The War Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Skyhold gets settled and the Inquisition barrels onward.

We were drawn from bed early the next morning by an obviously regretful Josephine, but not before having a gently whispered conversation about what I thought I had left behind.

“It’s been more than a week,” she prompted me. “When will they start to worry?”

“They started to worry on the very first night I didn’t come home,” I asserted. “I was working a lot, to help pay for Patrick’s parents’ nursing home. His father can’t be left unsupervised anymore, and his mother is just so sick… Patrick’s just a teacher, and he’s spending so much time taking his mother to the doctor that he couldn’t pick up another job. So I picked up a job at a children’s facility on top of my full-time hours at the hospital. He was either at work or in the city with his family, and I was working or trying to keep our house in order, but we made a point to spend an hour together every evening on the couch before we went to bed. Even if we were too tired to talk, we would _sit there_ together and decompress. The first night I missed it, that I didn’t come home? He would have called the police, filed a missing person’s report.”

“What does that mean?”

“They’d start looking for me. They’d look for my car, for my phone, go to the places I worked and try to track my movements. They’d put out notices to the public and start digging through my life with Patrick, making sure there was no motive for me to run away or be kidnapped or for any other foul play.”

Hellen’s face crinkled as she tried to pull meaning from words she could not possibly know. “So his life is already completely uprooted.”

I nodded. “My parents will be worrying. But how bad it is depends on what I left behind. I can’t even start to wonder where my things might be, because I can’t remember how I got here. I don’t even know what day it was when I left. Everything after the first of July just gets progressively foggier.”

Hellen looked like she had another question, but the moment was broken as Josephine tapped lightly on the door to draw us from bed. I started to suspect the Antivan was going to inherit my spot in Hellen’s bed once the Herald moved upstairs to the Inquisitor’s quarters. She had a shift and a plain woolen dress for me, as well as thick knee-high woolen socks and a sheepskin wrap for my shoulders. She had Hellen explain to me that it was excess clothing donated by servants, but it would keep me warm while my own clothes were being laundered; she seemed to be rather ashamed of giving me servant's clothes.

I told Josephine – via Hellen – that being confused as a servant was the least of my problems, and if I needed to work to justify the clothes I was happy to do so. Josie seemed horrified until she realized Hellen and I were grinning. While the Ambassador was nobility down to her fingernails, both Hellen and I had grown up in a lower class. Being confused for a servant wasn’t an insult in either of our minds.

The concept of _clean clothes_ was promising as well. The shift was broad enough in the chest – which surprised me, since I was far more heavily endowed than most of the women I’d seen – but laced in the back to provide bust support. It wasn’t like anything I had ever seen before, but it was surprisingly comfortable. I had lost enough weight since my arrival in Thedas that none of my clothes fit as well as they had when I bought them. It was a good problem to have, if annoying.

Josie had a wide-toothed comb for me, as well – where she kept coming up with this shit was beyond me – and I’d gone for so long without shampoo that my hair had come back into equilibrium. I longed for a hot shower in a way that made me itch, but for the most part I was clean enough. I pulled the comb through my hair and braided it back, Josephine helping me tie the end off with a bit of what looked like sinew. I wasn’t going to ask.

She scooped up my clothes and disappeared with them, as Hellen and I wandered out to face the day.

Cassandra and Leliana were having a conversation with Cullen in the yard, and I quickly recognized the scene.

“I think they’re waiting for you,” I said to Hellen, and nudged her towards her advisors. She strode off to meet them as I attempted to duck into the crowd.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Josie said, appearing in time to snag me by the collar. My joy at understanding the sentence was utterly undermined by my desire to be just another face in the crowd.

Cole appeared as if summoned – arguably he was, if my mental _noooooo_ counted as a summoning – and I quickly told him that I wanted to just blend in with the crowd, could he _please_ explain that to Josephine.

In response Josephine plucked at my simple dress with a single raised eyebrow.

The underhanded cleverness of the Ambassador surprised me. “How long has she had those clothes set aside?” I asked Cole.

“Days,” Josephine replied with a smirk; it was another word I was happy to know.

No one would look for me, dressed as I was, hair tied back for the first time since I woke up, standing beside and slightly behind Josephine like I was one of her servants. There was literally no better way to blend in with the crowd.

I felt like I had never truly appreciated the woman before now. “Thank you,” I said, in my horribly accented Common.

“You’re welcome,” she replied.

Hellen took the dragon-hilted sword of the Inquisition with aplomb, and the new Inquisitor was vigorously cheered by the Haven survivors.

We hadn’t  been in Skyhold long enough for word to spread of our survival; unlike the cut-scene in my memory, only two nights had passed in the new fortress before Hellen was named Inquisitor. It made more sense to me… while we were standing around waiting for the ravens to be collected and basic organization to be achieved, we had a moment to breathe. It might be the only time Hellen was willing to stand around for a ceremony. If she had thought the infrastructure was in place to hit the road and _do_ something again, she wouldn’t have been bothered to wave a sword in the air in front of a crowd of people, regardless of the implications.

I wanted to tell Josephine about the need to attend the Winter Ball. I also wanted to tell her about the contract the Crows had on file for anyone trying to restore the Montilyets. I wanted to talk to Cullen about his withdrawal symptoms, and get Cassandra to start talking about the mage she’d loved and lost at the Conclave. I wanted to talk to Dorian about the bullshit his father pulled, and suggest pranks to Sera. And I wanted badly – so badly it made my teeth hurt – to have a conversation with Solas and figure out whether he trusted me to keep his secret, or if I was on his list of potential statues.

All of those things required me to be able to speak Common. Not broken, half-assed, rudimentary Common, either… fluent, unaccented Common.

I turned to Cole… but of course Cole already knew.

He took my hand and led me out into the crowd. Every free waking moment from that time on, I focused on nothing but learning the language of the Inquisition.

Josephine returned my clothes the next morning. They weren’t as clean as my front-loader back home could have gotten them, but they were a damn sight cleaner than they had been, and somehow already dry to boot, and I thanked her profusely. She – via Hellen – informed me that the report had come in from the dwarven expedition down to the bottom of the outflow pipe. They claimed the construction of the cisterns and plumbing was dwarven in origin; it was nearly identical to the system in place in Orzammar. It had taken longer than expected for them to return because the pipe disappeared into the ground at the base of the cliff, surrounded by water that really should have been ice. They searched for an access tunnel for quite some time before finally stumbling across – of all things – an entrance to the Deep Roads. There were no signs of darkspawn activity, but a guard was posted regardless and a plan made to create new barred-from-the-outside gates to secure it. A winding staircase had circled the pipe on the way down, until it – predictably, according to the dwarves – opened up over a deep pit.

The bottom of the pit was an active lava flow of epic proportions.

The plumbing was declared fit to be tested, and a team of mages was paired with the dwarves. Each cistern was systematically emptied, cleaned, and filled by the mages while the dwarven engineering team – including a mason, a smith, a miner, and a couple of other specialties that simply did not translate – traced each pipe and checked for leaks. There were surprisingly few, but all were carefully patched and stress-tested before the two teams moved to the next system.

Cullen had Bull fetch me so he could personally thank me for insisting on the cisterns being given priority. It would likely take three weeks to get all the water systems running, but the discovery of the Deep Roads entrance would never have happened without my insistence on sanitation. A few weeks longer, and the spring thaw would have made the end of the outflow pipe nearly impossible to locate, and the Deep Roads entrance would have been too treacherous to reach behind the falls, if it was noticed at all. There was time to install the new gates before the water started flowing, and it was owed all to me.

I understood maybe half of Cullen’s little speech of gratitude, which was almost more pleasing than the recognition.

By the time the layout of the keep had been completely mapped, I was refusing to speak in English, even when Bull or Hellen were present. My Common was broken and terrible, and I was frequently laughed at for making the sort of grammatical mistakes typical of children, but I was gradually becoming understandable. I understood three times as much as I could speak, though, and so my rate of acquisition of new words was accelerating every day.

“I want _this_ room,” I told Cullen as I finished telling him about the arrangement of rooms in the deeper levels of the keep, and pointing out the blocked stairwell that led further down. He was reviewing the entirety of the drawings for the first time over his impromptu table in the courtyard, with Hellen, Josephine, and Leliana standing around watching.

Cullen merely raised an eyebrow at my assertion, but Josephine openly laughed. “Surely you are not serious! The room in the tower is already set aside-“

“Tower room is not to sleep,” I told her. “These rooms are to live,” I said as I indicated on the map the rooms that had been arranged around communal water closets. “Tower rooms for guards, offices, weapons…”

“She has a point,” Cullen admitted, pointing to the way the tower rooms opened into the courtyard. The second story rooms each lead to strategic balconies, and the third floor rooms all possessed arrow slits instead of windows.

“I think Josie intended those rooms for visiting nobility,” Hellen offered.

“No, the rooms around the secondary courtyard – what should be a garden, here – are better suited for nobility,” Leliana indicated the most derelict portion of the keep on the map.

“We will not have those ready in time for visitors,” Josephine disapproved.

“While they are being redone, you could simply limit the amount of time visitors may stay,” Cullen suggested with no attempt at subtlety. He had even less love for nobility than the game had suggested.

“Which you should do _any_ ways while we’re trying to patch things up,” Leliana agreed. “There is nothing here yet to impress anyone, Josie. A visit would only prove our existence, which letters and signatures can easily do.”

Josephine scowled in response. “I believe it is _my_ responsibility to determine how best to win over allies to our cause? Seeing our inglorious beginning will add a great deal of weight in the years to come, when our first visitors return to Skyhold and see what we have accomplished.”

“I trust your judgment,” Hellen said, which immediately mollified Josephine. “You should know, though, that it will be many weeks before we have any rooms even remotely acceptable to house an Orlesian without insulting them.”

“Yes,” I chimed in. “Poor Vivienne.”

“Poor Vivienne!” Leliana laughed. “Poor _me_!”

“You are Fereldan!” I chided, and Leliana’s smile faded.

Hellen and Cullen quirked eyebrows – everyone assumed Leliana was Orlesian, I supposed – but Josephine nudged the Nightingale with one elbow. “She has a point. It is your bloodright to sleep on the floor with dogs.”

That startled a snort out of Hellen, who was rewarded with an eyeroll from her Spymaster. “Fair enough,” Leliana conceded, but she had that considering look aimed at me whenever I glanced her way.

“That room,” I reminded the Commander as I pointed at the spot on the map. “Mine.”

He laughed and made a notation on the drawing, which prompted the others to laugh as well. I looked askance at Hellen.

“It is your name, Gwen.”

“You cannot read?” Cassandra asked, aghast.

“Not Common,” I answered with a shrug. “It is on my list.”

“You wrote with a very fine hand when you were exploring the keep,” Josephine told me.

 I had to ask Hellen for clarification – _fine hand_ was a turn of phrase I had not yet heard – and she quickly translated the line.

“Oh! Yes. Thank you!”

“I could not recognize a single letter of it,” Josie added.

“Nor I,” Hellen admitted. “The language might sound the same, but the writing is utterly alien. I have to believe her when she insists she speaks _English_ and not Qunlat.”

“About time,” I grunted.

I had few suggestions to make in terms of changes to Skyhold. Most of what had concerned me was already built into the city. I was more than passing curious about who had built with cleanliness in mind; the dwarven engineering team had declared a dwarven influence, but only Solas would really know, and I didn’t have the vocabulary yet to ask him. I watched as areas were earmarked for different things, and allowed myself to be amused by how similar their conclusions were to the ones made in the game I had played, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Most surprising was how Cullen hadn’t considered where his office should be – and the women could not agree.

After listening to their suggestions – all of them reasonable, if imperfect – I pointed at the third-floor room in the middle tower. They fell silent to give me a turn to speak.

“Tower room, for soldiers. Straight walk to main hall, for advisor. Windows to look out at soldiers, for Commander. Three doors, for… for…” I frowned and switched to English. “Hellen, how would I say _open communication_ in Common?”

She offered the phrase, and I repeated it twice to myself before resuming. “Three doors for open communication. Rooms above or below for bed? Make you sleep.” It was the most I had ever tried to say, and it left me simultaneously exhausted and exhilarated. I was communicating with them! Finally!

The four women all seemed to agree that it was the most logical choice – there had been some hope of using that room as some kind of entertaining space, given its connection to the main hall, but I hadn’t been able to follow that portion of the conversation as well – and Cullen was regarding me with a mix of admiration and concern.

“She cannot read your mind, Cullen,” Hellen told him, apparently coming to the right conclusion when his expression suddenly cleared. “Although it _is_ creepy when she proves how well she knows us.”

“Not creepy,” I complained, and she laughed.

“I liked it better when you couldn’t understand my explanations,” Hellen teased.

“Fuck you,” I said in English. “Translate _that_.”

The Inquisitor tipped her head back and roared with laughter.

She did not, however, translate, and ignored the quizzical looks she got from her advisors. We broke up soon after that, and orders were passed to direct people to their new quarters. A lot of cleaning had to be done before many spaces were inhabitable, but nearly half of the cisterns were operable and the population of Skyhold had all been taught how to run the taps that brought water into the fortress. Soap was readily available, the kitchens had been declared clean and operable, and soon the ponderous machine that was the Inquisition rolled to life.

By the next evening, there were no tents left in the courtyard. The building tucked between the south wall of the main hall and the battlements, above and behind the kitchens, became the infirmary, and while there weren’t many inhabitants, it was where I dedicated my time. Cole still hovered over my shoulder, and he was always willing to assist me, but as the days went by he helped more with cleaning and turning patients than with translating my words.

The last of the cisterns was declared safe for usage on the morning before Leliana decreed the ravens were ready to fly. The first stage in settling the Inquisition was complete. We had been in Skyhold nearly a month, and Spring was in full swing.

The next morning, I was called into the new war room.

It was precisely where I remembered, behind too many doors at the end of a crumbling hallway open to the biting mountain air. The room curved around the outside of the building, on the very edge of the cliff, although it was impossible to get a good estimate of precisely how far down the bottom was.

“How fare your language lessons?” Leliana asked as I took my place at the corner of the table beside Hellen. Cassandra didn’t stand right up next to the war table, but leaned against the wall near the door. I got the impression that she was there to stay informed and guard the proceedings rather than to actively participate.

“Good,” I answered. “Slow, but good.”

Josephine laughed. “That you can even answer the question gives lie to the speed you claim.”

I had to work the wording though my head for a moment before I was sure of what she had said, and then nodded with a smile. “Thank you. I think.”

It earned me a chuckle, which gave me a moment to collect my courage.

“Leliana,” I said before anyone else could speak. “It is you… hrm. It is your trust I have to earn.”

“You think so?” the Nightingale murmured.

I nodded. “Only talking to Hellen and the Ben’Hassrath is no good. I learn Common so you do not…” I frowned and asked Hellen in English, “how would I say _shank me_ in Common?”

“Gwen!” Hellen cried, shocked. “She would not!”

“Hellen, how would I say it?”

She scowled and grudgingly answered, “You want to learn Common so that Leliana would not _shank_ you.”

The Nightingale leaned on the table and laughed, a musical trill of a sound that brought a smile to my face, even if what she was laughing at horrified everyone else present.

“Yes, that,” I confirmed Hellen’s statement. “You must protect Hellen, yes?”

Leliana nodded. “Yes, I must protect Hellen. And you did seem very suspicious, suddenly arriving and only being able to speak to our Herald and a known spy. Your only other verification was a mysterious spirit who arrived immediately after you announced he would be trustworthy.”

I nodded, while Josephine and Hellen managed to look shocked. Cullen could only shrug – his thinking was likely in line with the Nightingale’s.

“Hellen’s life is most important,” I told her, as solemnly as I could while stumbling over the words.

“There we are all agreed,” Cullen offered. “Which is why you were asked to join us today.”

“Where can I go that won’t get me killed?” Hellen asked with a smile.

I shrugged. “This is Thedas. Is any where safe?”

It was not the answer they expected. Leliana smiled a bit smugly. “As I said.”

“You could fall anywhere,” I continued, if a bit brokenly. “Must always be careful, even here. Fall off edge, Inquisition ends. Dream of demon? Inquisition ends.”

Hellen scowled at me. “I do not need the reminder to ward my dreams.”

I shrugged. “Then why ask?’

“I believe what Hellen is requesting,” Josephine said, stepping in before the Inquisitor’s now-famous temper could make an appearance, “is a recommendation of places she should avoid, or perhaps suggestions for where she may do the most good.”

I shook my head. “Your job. Leliana’s job. Cullen’s job. Not my job.”

“What _is_ your job, then?” Leliana prompted.

“I stop you before you doing anything stupid. I save lives. I keep Skyhold healthy.”

“So you are saying that you will not give us any input, even though you know what the ultimate outcome is for every action?” Leliana was outraged – and more than a little angry. I was immediately terrified, but I stuck to my guns.

“I cannot risk making Hellen – or you! – weak. You need to be _strong_ to win. You get strong by fighting, by winning by yourself, and yes by losing. Hellen will not be made strong by holding my hand.”

“She’s right,” Hellen sighed. “She told me this before. If she tells me how to win, she changes the future she knows. She might make me stronger, or she might make me weaker, but she cannot foresee which. If she tells me we _will_ win, will I sit on my laurels, and not have the strength I need at the end? If she tells me we will fail, will we quit? If she told me how to escape from Corypheus in Haven, might I have been looking for the tunnel, and given away my escape? Could he have come back and slain me while I lay unconscious in the cave? I have seen that the future is alterable. Every day I am here with you is another step away from the reality of Alexius’ intention. Gwen fears her presence here will alter the future she knows; already the timing she expects is wrong. Is that her doing? We cannot know. Rather than mine her for information, we must instead accept that she does have the answers we need, and she is giving them to us as we need them. Right now her answer is, work. Grow stronger.”

“Stronger in mind, if not body,” Leliana conceded with a sigh. “You are right. If Solona had known what would happen in the Deep Roads, we might never have gone. Would we have won the Battle of Denerim without Bhelen’s help? It is impossible to know.”

“Solona Amell?” I asked, feeling myself perk up. I was dying to know about the Hero of Ferelden, but this was my first chance since I’d acquired a working knowledge of Common.

Leliana merely nodded.

“I know… what choices she had. But not what choices she made.”

Leliana cocked her head slightly. “What do you mean?”

I lifted my right hand. “Wynne and Irving?” I lifted my left hand. “Gregoire and… and…”

“Annulment,” Leliana provided softly. “We saved the mages.”

I nodded. “Carridin or Branka?”

“Carridin,” she replied, no longer bothering to hide the surprise on her face.

“Zathrian or Witherfang?”

“The Lady of the Forest,” she corrected me with a smile.

“Good,” I approved. “Eamon’s family?”

“She entered the Fade to save them all.”

“Good,” I approved again, then paused. The next question could get me killed, depending on how much Leliana knew.

I took a deep breath and plunged forward, trusting Hellen to keep the Nightingale from shanking me. “Who killed the arch demon?”

Leliana’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

I shook my head. “Where are Loghain, Alistair, Solona… now? Today? Who lives? Where... where is Morrigan?"

Her face dropped, her expression ice cold, and my heart stuttered. She knew. She _definitely_ knew.

“Loghain was slain at the Landsmeet,” she answered, slowly. “Alistair is a Grey Warden in Ferelden, having given the throne to Anora. He spent the years immediately after the Blight hunting down any remaining darkspawn on the surface. Solona is Arlessa of Amaranthine, and the Warden Commander of Ferelden. Morrigan... left, shortly after the battle was won.”

I nodded. Everyone else in the room was clearly aware of the sudden tension, if completely confused by its source.

“So Weisshaupt was told… that the arch demon…” I said slowly, very careful of my word choice, “was slain by… Riordan? As the oldest warden there, yes?”

Leliana’s face smoothed. “Yes. Weisshaupt has declared Riordan the slayer of the arch demon. Ferelden has largely ignored that and declared Solona the Hero of the Fifth Blight.”

I nodded, although my eyes did not leave Leliana’s. I raised my eyebrows in an _I told you so_ sort of way. Summoning up my courage again, I crossed the room to her and spread my hands, as if to show I was defenseless.

“I know what secrets to keep,” I whispered, when I was sure only she could hear.

She met my eyes, but did not respond.

“I know it is stupid to be your enemy,” I said in a louder voice, and a ghost of a smile drifted across her face.

She turned her back to me, then – which seemed intentionally symbolic – and stepped to a sideboard for a pair of goblets. She filled them quickly with a smooth red liquid and then held them both out, to allow me to choose my glass.

I took the one on my right side, as a show of trust. We touched glasses as the Nightingale said softly, “To new allies.”

My eyes did not leave hers as I emptied my glass.

I handed her back the goblet and returned to Hellen’s side.

“Am I missing something?” Cullen asked as Leliana returned the goblets to the side board and stepped sedately to the war table.

“I know things,” I told Cullen simply. “You want me to say what I know of you?”

“No! No, that is not necessary.”

I shrugged. “Then I keep your secrets. I keep all secrets. Is better that way.”

Josephine and Cassandra both looked decidedly uncomfortable. I sighed, knowing I had to divulge _something_ to smooth this over.

“Josie,” I said, and her eyes snapped up to mine. “There is… old, um. Hrm. Contract? Right word?”

“Contract? A written agreement between two parties-“ Josephine answered.

“Yes,” I agreed quickly. “Old contract with um… in Antiva. Crows?”

“The Antivan Crows?”

I nodded. “Yes. Antivan Crows have contract to kill person who… AUGH.”

Hellen started to laugh. “Ready for me to translate for you?”

“ _No_. I not learn….” I took deep breath. “Person who try to bring back Montilyets.”

“Someone has made a contract with the Crows to kill anyone who tries to restore my family? Who?”

I shrugged. “Family long dead. Not point. They come for you, unless you fix it first.”

She went still. “I had not yet begun my attempt… had only just decided…”

I nodded. “Good to know now, no?”

“Y-yes. Yes, _thank you_.”

I smiled and turned to Cullen, who winced. “I am a healer? I can help your head… head… headache?”

His eyes widened almost comically. “I… Yes. Thank you. I will keep that in mind.”

I nodded. “Write your sister.”

He flushed crimson. “I will.”

“Soon?”

“Of course.”

“Good.”

I turned then to Cassandra, and put a hand out, questioning. She made the now-familiar _come at me_ gesture.

“I am sorry for your loss at the Conclave.”

It was absolutely not what she expected, and her eyes briefly filled with tears before she spun away and faced the wall. I shushed Hellen before she could ask the question that had flown to her lips, and her jaw audibly snapped shut. By silent agreement, the other four people in the room with Cassandra and I shuffled to the map table and started carefully checking the location of their pieces.

“I… thank you,” Cassandra said once she had composed herself. “It is kind of you to say so.”

I nodded, and then turned my attention back to the people gathered at the table.

“Where do you want to go, Hellen?”

She gave a pretty little speech about needing to check in on Inquisition forces in the Hinterlands and the Storm Coast. There were rumors swirling about captured Inquisition forces in the Fallow Mire that she was considering sending Lace Harding to investigate while she started to the north and worked her way down.

I nodded. “Stay out of the water,” I told her.

“Where? In the Storm Coast?”

I shook my head, _no_ , and pointed at the marker meant to represent Harding on the Fallow Mire.

All eyes snapped back up to mine. “Warn Lace,” I told Leliana.

“What’s wrong with the water?” Hellen breathed.

I frowned for a minute before deciding I completely lacked the words in Common to describe the situation, and switched back to English. “There was a plague in the area, and most of the people living there died; the bodies were not all destroyed. Disturbing the water wakes the dead. The Avvar are holding your men to lure you there, because their leader wants to fight you for being a representative of a false god.”

Hellen’s shoulders dropped, and she repeated my warning – word-for-word so I could learn the vocabulary – to the others.

“I will warn Lace,” Leliana quickly agreed.

“Should I go there first?” Hellen asked her advisers.

“Our troops in the Storm Coast and the Hinterlands are currently unsupported, and would be much less likely to desert if they had proof the Inquisition survived Haven,” Cullen said shaking his head.

“And being seen by our allies in those regions will do much to add credence to the claims of your personal survival,” Josephine added.

“Lace needs time to find a safe route and set up a base camp for you to operate out of,” Leliana concluded. “The original plan is still the best. We must hope the soldiers held captive are well cared for by the Avvar. If they are not, they may be dead even now, and no amount of rushing to their aid will save them.”

“You might pack a few extra healing potions, just in case,” Cullen mentioned, almost as an aside. He could not sacrifice the many soldiers he had in the other regions in the name of the few who were held by the Avvar, but he would not write them off, either.

Hellen seemed sensitive to it, as well. “I will save them if I can, Cullen,” she said gently.

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” he responded.

“When will you leave?” I asked Hellen.

“Tomorrow,” she answered, and I nodded, admittedly a bit sadly.

“Can I convince you to sleep over in my new rooms?” she asked in Qunlat. “They’re way the fuck up in the air and I’m not at all used to them yet.”

“And they’re probably cold as balls,” I grumbled through a smile.

“You know it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Catch you at dinner. Here’s your chance to escape.”

“My hero,” I laughed, and then merely waved to the others as I turned to flee.

“What?” I heard Hellen, again speaking in Common, ask innocently as I pulled open the heavy door. “I get to have secrets, too. Now, what will you three be doing while I am away?”

I lost their responses as the door boomed shut behind me. I was  halfway down the hall when Cole suddenly appeared and took my hand. “Still so much to learn,” he told me, and I let myself be led to wherever he thought I needed to be.

 

*

 

Hellen tugged me out of the main hall after dinner that night, and pulled me along with her for a tour of Skyhold, now that everything was considered structurally sound. I pointed out to her all the ways Skyhold in reality was different from the Skyhold I knew. The garden was easily twice the size that I expected, the towers taller, the courtyards wider. The mountains were bigger, the valley broader, the _scale_ of everything was so much more epic. The warren of rooms beneath the main hall were joined by basements and sub-basements beneath the courtyard and towers, and all of them were unexpected for me.

She led me around the battlements to eventually stop outside the northern entrance to Cullen’s office.

“Was this your goal?” I asked her in English, as she grinned at me and raised a fist to knock on the door.

A guard opened the door, staggering back a step when he saw Hellen and I standing side-by-side in front of him. “Let’s not get in the habit of knocking,” Cullen’s voice called from behind the startled guard. “I’ll go hoarse calling for people to enter.”

Hellen and I stepped to either side of the guard, who beat a hasty retreat.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen greeted her. “My lady Gwen,” he stumbled a bit over the honorific.

“No,” I laughed. “Just Gwen.”

He grinned his acceptance of my plea, but Hellen took over the conversation. “Tell me about these headaches.”

I felt the smile slide off my face just as Cullen’s features fell.

“Hellen,” I chided, switching back to English. “Everyone gets their secrets. Cullen is no exception. Leave the poor man alone.”

Cullen waved me off, and slowly filled Hellen in on his withdrawal from lyrium. I couldn’t follow all of it – my Common was still too limited for the sort of confession he was making – and so I drifted away from them. I tried not to worry too much about damaging the timeline in this instance. Hellen wasn’t supposed to hear about this for quite some time, but I couldn’t see how staying ahead of Cullen’s withdrawals could possibly be a negative thing... as long as she didn't try to make him start taking it again. I shuddered to think of him ended up on the streets of Val Chevin.

He hadn’t been in the office long, but there was already a significant number of books on his shelf. Many seemed new – he hadn’t taken any books with him in the evacuation of Haven, so that was to be expected – and I found myself wishing I could read the titles. The Common alphabet was utterly alien to me, the characters on the spines meaningless; the books could be the Chant of Light or the Kama Sutra and I wouldn’t know the difference.

Well, unless they were _illustrated_ , I suppose…

I was chuckling to myself when I realized the conversation in the room had ceased. I glanced up guiltily.

Cullen seemed painfully uncomfortable by my amusement, while Hellen was smiling at his discomfiture. “What’s funny?” she asked me.

“I can not tell the… the difference between books. They could be anything, and I would not know. I am a like child, looking for pictures.”

Cullen recovered quickly once he realized he wasn’t a target of my derision for his choice in reading material. He crossed the room quickly to my side, kneeling briefly to slide a particularly tattered volume off the bottom shelf. He handed it to me with a broad smile, his scar pulling slightly at his mouth to make the expression just a little bit lopsided.

The fucker was _swoon-worthy_ and he just gave me a _book_. A box of chocolate and a foot rub and I’d be putty in his hands.

For the first time, I was _thrilled_ not to have Cole around.

Focusing on my wedding band – Patrick, remember him? eight years of wedded bliss, for better or for worse? – I flipped open the cover of the book.

It was full of lovely, full-page pen-and-ink illustrations. Beside each picture was a series of characters – Common was apparently written from top-to-bottom rather than left-to-right – in what was unmistakably a reading primer. The first picture was a dog that seemed to be too muscular in all the wrong places, and I remembered the Commander was _Fereldan_.

“This one! Does it say _mabari_ or does it say just generic _dog_?” I asked Hellen in English.

“Mabari,” Cullen answered for her, easily deducting my meaning.

I snapped the book shut and clutched it to my chest, if only to keep me from skipping around the room and hugging the man like I was some idiot tart of a girl with her first crush.

Thank _fuck_ Cole wasn’t around.

“Thank you,” I told him, inwardly cursing at the breathy quality my voice had taken on.

“My pleasure,” he responded.

“So. Headaches,” Hellen said, drawing the conversation back around.

“I can help,” I told Cullen quickly. “If – _if_ – you would like help. You can do this without help. Do not push, Hellen.”

“I am currently well,” Cullen assured the Inquisitor. “I will remember this option, Inquisitor, and use it if it becomes necessary.”

“My name is Hellen, Commander.” Adaar said with a sigh.

“Of course, Inquisitor,” he replied. The slight hitch to his smile told me he was teasing her.

“Bed time,” I told Hellen, reaching out to tug on her hand and pull her toward the door.

Cullen’s face flashed through a variety of emotions before settling on wry amusement. “Good night, ladies.”

“Good night, Cullen,” we answered at the same time.


	8. Pt I Ch 8: The Infirmary Chief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we have conversations with most of our favorite men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I had this written months ago, and none of your notes altered the content of this chapter. Y'all just know me well enough to know what's coming down the pipe. <3

Hellen and I slept little that night. She confessed in the hours around midnight that she was a bit sad that I had learned enough Common to get by, and that she rarely needed to speak to me in Qunlat anymore.

“Before I walked up to you that afternoon in Haven, I hadn’t spoken in Qunlat in years. My parents had grown up speaking Qunlat – they were both the children of Tal’Vashoth, I am only second generation Vashoth. Once they died in the Blight, I spoke only Common. When I heard it roll out of your mouth… _Shocked_ doesn’t seem like a strong enough word.”

“You didn’t speak at all to Bull?”

“Only in Common,” she insisted. “He had no reason to believe I was fluent, and I had no reason to tell him.”

“Has he forgiven you for it?”

“Not yet.”

Our conversation stayed positive, if a bit bittersweet. We spoke in English just so Hellen could keep in practice, and we reminisced about things we had loved, in the lives we used to have before the Inquisition. We spent easily an hour talking about our affinities for music, although our tastes were, by necessity, quite different. I had sat through hundreds of hours of piano lessons as a child, and as an adult had purchased a simple keyboard to keep in practice and remember simpler days. Hellen had learned to play the lute from a Bard who had hidden with her mercenary band, although that was the extent of her knowledge. She couldn’t tell me if a _piano_ existed in her world, but the inability of the word to translate did not give me high hopes.

We stayed up most of the night talking, wrapped up in thick downy blankets as we sat in her largely unfurnished room at the top of the highest tower. There was not a huge empty space like in the tower of my memory, but instead the steps meandered back-and-forth on one wall, and a door to another empty room sat on each landing. We had passed four doors before arriving at Hellen’s, but once there the room was largely the same as I remembered. The vaulted ceiling high above did nothing to trap in heat, but the hearth had been declared structurally sound and the fire within was cheery. The loft was as yet unclaimed, as was one of the two small rooms beneath it. The second room, however, contained a little water closet. Hellen’s was special in that it also contained a wooden tub for bathing. It was made like a barrel, and I realized coopers could have a booming side business if Hellen’s bathtub caught on.

“Is there any way to heat the water?” I asked her when she’d given me the tour.

She wiggled her fingers at me. “Maaaaagic.”

“Is there any way for _me_ to heat the water when you’re away?”

She laughed. “Going to sneak up here and steal my bath?”

“If there’s anyway to make it warm? Yes.”

“I can leave you Dorian. He’s got an affinity for fire.”

“If Dorian knows there’s a bathtub up here, he’ll crawl into it before I can.”

Hellen waggled her eyebrows at me. “So hop into the tub with Dorian.”

I snorted. “I’m married and he’s not interested.”

She seemed surprised but did not press the issue.

At least, not _then_. I walked her to the door of the main hall the next morning, and gave a her hug inside, rather than venturing out to freeze in the predawn frost. “You are not immortal, you hear me?” I told her softly in English. “You be careful and make sure you come back.”

“Yes, ser,” she answered in Common with a laugh, and then she glanced over my shoulder. “Dorian! There you are.”

“You didn’t,” I hissed, and then looked back to see the Tevinter slow down in the face of my displeasure.

“Don’t go seducing Dorian away from me while I’m gone,” she told me with a wink. I rolled my eyes.  
“If I can do _that_ I will know I am dreaming,” I answered in English.

She laughed and then was down the stairs and gone.

“She called me down to meet you this morning,” Dorian said casually from behind me, where he peered over my shoulder at the disappearing Hellen. “Yet she didn’t tell me why. And you don’t seem pleased to see me, so thus far it’s been a waste of pants.”

I turned to face him, smiling in spite of myself. “There is… a tub… in Hellen’s room. She says… you can warm it? But then… then I have to share.”

His eyes widened almost comically. “A tub? You mean a bath tub?”

I nodded, and he started rubbing his hands together.

“A _tub_. I thought it would be weeks yet before we could get the merchant here…. But Josephine found one already, and snuck it upstairs for _Hellen_.” He seemed to remember me, and paused. “Is that the only reason you were displeased that Hellen had sent for me?”

I nodded. “Dorian. I love you. Your father? He is a dick. You are the best.”

His look of surprise melted into saucy speculation. “So you really just wanted the bath to yourself?”

I nodded vehemently. “If there were two, I would sit by you and be happy.”

“There will be _three_ as soon as I can manage it,” he declared, and led me away from the doors with a jerk of his head. “You and Hellen and I can be three ducks in a row when she gets back. For now, I am happy to take turns.”

The cask was Hellen-sized. We spent all of about five minutes filling it, heating it, and considering the expanse of hot water before stripping down and climbing in together.

“You realize how odd this is for me, I’m sure,” Dorian commented as I scrubbed his back. “You fell out of Alexius’ last portal, landed on your ear, and then I saw neither hide nor hair of you until this morning. We never spoke before now. And here, an hour later, we’re naked in a tub. Not that I mind, of course, but the idea that you know enough about me to be comfortable while I know _nothing_ about you is… well, it’s odd.”

“What do you want to know?” I asked.

He chuckled. “That’s a bit of a ridiculous question, you know. How about, _who are you_? Does that suffice?”

“You know the story? The story I told Hellen? I told Bull?”

He gestured for us to switch roles, and we both spun carefully to avoid spilling as he returned the back-scrubbing favor.

“Yes, of course. That isn’t to say I _believed_ it, but I definitely heard it. I believe everyone has by this point.”

I shrugged. “Was true. I was married. Healer. Housewife. No memory how I came here. But your world is… setting for a game, in my world. So I know about people, about events.”

“You realize how ridiculous that sounds, yes?”

“Try living it.”

That gave him pause. “You don’t believe this is real?”

“I think… I am dreaming. Hope I am dreaming.”

“So you don’t _want_ to be here.”

“I woke up when Haven was… hrm… killed? Lost. I woke up just before time to run. Would you want that?”

“Fair enough.”

“Do my mother, my father, my husband, my brother… do they think me dead?”

Dorian went still. “Oh.”

“Here is war. Here is darkspawn. Here is magic, and danger, and death. Home, we do not have these things. Not like here.”

“I heard you were responsible for the sudden emphasis on hand washing in the Inquisition,” he said, finishing his work on my back and moving away. I spun to face him, and we sat on either side of the tub, sitting slightly to the right with knees bent and feet tucked against each other’s hips.

“I am,” I agreed. “Less smell. Less sickness.”

“Which I assume is one of the many differences between your world and ours?”

I nodded.

He seemed to consider it. “Tell me about your teeth.”

“My.. teeth?”

He tapped on his front teeth. “Teeth. How are yours perfectly straight and white? It doesn’t seem real. Or fair.”

I grunted. I had definitely not learned the words needed to explain modern dentistry. “My world… likes perfect. Tall, thin, blonde women with perfect teeth and perfect body and perfect hair.”

“That’s your ideal? How droll.”

I shrugged. “Is what we all strive for. So, we make teeth straight and white.”

“Wait, you _make_ them like that?”

“Teeth doctor,” I said, lamely. “Do not know word.”

“We don’t have one,” he reassured me. “Barbers are known to pull teeth, but not… _that_.”

I grinned. “White powder? For baking? Mix with… hrm… acid? Makes bubbles?”

He shook his head, smiling. “You should know I don’t know my way around kitchen,” he chided.  
“Yes! But. We can get from kitchen. Powder will help make teeth white. Need tooth brush.”

His eyebrows narrowed. “You are not at all what I expected.”

“Wet and naked,” I agreed.

He barked a laugh. “Quite right. I’ve never managed to talk a woman out of her clothes so quickly, not that I make it a habit of trying.”

I shrugged. “I know I am not your type.”

He smiled a bit sadly. “I figured.”

I swatted at his knee underwater. “You are mine.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “I am your type, you mean to say?”

When I nodded, he leaned back and brought a hand to his chin thoughtfully. “Does our lady Inquisitor know this?”

I shrugged again, and then lifted my left hand to show him my wedding ring. “She know I am married. She know his name is Patrick.”

Dorian grunted. “Remind me to buy into Varric’s pool. He is keeping odds on when you and the Inquisitor become a item.”

“Put money on Josephine,” I counseled, and he grinned.

“Is that something you _know_?”

I shook my head. “I am a woman. Is something I see.”

Dorian sank deeper into the tub with a happy sigh. “I am going to hurry along your language study, Gwennie,” he said fondly. “I am beginning to suspect there is a mind trapped in there that I am going to _adore_.”

“Yes, please,” I quipped, happily.

 

*

 

Dorian was true to his word, although he took a different approach than Cole had. While Cole immersed me in spoken Common and helped me pick up the flavor of the language, Dorian took me directly to the library.

“The _smell_ ,” I breathed happily as we reached the top of the stairs. Dorian grinned at me, and called me a word I did not know… after a moment of explanation, I added the Common term for _bibliophile_ to my working vocabulary.

“Yes. Very much yes,” I agreed.

I had retrieved Cullen’s picture book from Hellen’s room, and that paired with a slate and chalk were my first steps toward literacy. Dorian was utterly dedicated to teaching me to read.  “It is the best way to expand one’s vocabulary.”

“I have words,” I told him, hating the language barrier between us. “Just… wrong language.”

“You speak the language of the Qun?” he asked softly.

I shrugged. “They speak my language. I call it English.”

“I like _English_ better than Qunlat, I must admit,” he laughed. “I will call it that, as well, if you don’t mind.”

“I would like it,” I agreed with a smile.

As I had noticed from the primer Cullen had loaned me, Common was written from top to bottom, and then left-to-right. The characters were wildly different, and the entire alphabet was purely phonetic: one symbol per sound. The characters themselves had names that were different than their sounds, and Dorian taught me the alphabet first. There was even a little alphabet song to go along with it, just like every other language I had learned. It was far longer than the English alphabet, with 42 letters. The song was a tune I had never heard, but catchy and simple. I had just finished my first error-free solo of their alphabet song when a messenger appeared.

“Lady Gwen?” he asked, surprising Dorian and I equally, as we had both expected it to be for him.

“Yes?” I managed.

“Lady Montilyet is looking for you.”

I nodded and said my goodbyes to Dorian. “Meet you in Hellen’s room tomorrow after breakfast?” he said as I stood to leave.

“Yes!” I agreed happily.

The messenger was plainly uncomfortable in my presence, so I didn’t attempt to talk to him. It was a short walk to Josephine’s office from the library, and she seemed surprised to see me when I came in. “That was quick,” she laughed.

“I was with Dorian. He teach… teaches? Is teaching? He is teaching me to read.”

“Oh, how lovely,” Josephine cooed as she dismissed the messenger. “I have something for you as well.”

“Oh?”

She gestured at a heavy crate that sat on the floor not far from her desk. “I took the liberty – I hope you can forgive me for the intrusion – of getting measurements off your native clothing when I had it cleaned.” I had taken to wearing the servant’s dress she had given me, delighting in the anonymity it provided me. Even people who knew me – like Krem and Cullen – slid their gazes right past me in a crowd, never recognizing me without my hoodie, blue jeans, and tumble of unbound hair.

“This shift you gave me fits nice,” I told her rather than outright granting forgiveness. If Josephine wanted to play dress up with me, I would be an idiot to refuse. A naked, penniless idiot.

“Oh, good. I’m glad. It was hard to judge… well, your, shall we say, jacket? It was not very, um, well. Flattering? And decidedly not form fitting.”

“Not meant to be,” I agreed gently. “Was my husband’s. Shirt with buttons was my husband’s, too.”

“Oh,” Josephine said, sounding more like the beginning of a sob than a word.

I could only smile. After a moment, I made a show of examining the crate.

“Right! Yes. I took the liberty of having clothing ordered for you, based on the measurements I took from your, well, your undergarments. Which were _fascinating_. Anyway. Shall we open it?”

I nodded eagerly.

Vivienne was often credited with the overall style of the Inquisition, but again Josephine had been done a gross injustice. The dresses she pulled from the crate were each very finely made, of fine fabrics and such an even stitchwork that I was convinced Thedas had already invented sewing machines. They were made of a thick wool, since I was so often cold, and came with matching underskirts and knee-high woolen socks. One was a nearly chocolate brown, the second was a creamy yellow that slowly faded to orange around the bottom hem, and the third was a heathery green. They would all look amazing against my skin and hair, and I was brought immediately to the point of tears.

“They are simply made, so as not to immediately identify you as nobility, but fine enough to justify your station. I trust I have done well?”

I nodded, roughly wiping away tears before laughing weakly. “They are beautiful.”

Josephine beamed at me. “I am so glad. Here, there is more…”

She dug out a pair of stout sheepskin boots that would wrap around my calves warmly, but were tooled so as to not look out of place beneath my new dresses. There was a heap of plain linen shifts, all with the lacing around the bodice to support my bust, although these laces were in the front and would be easier to tie on my own. I realized the shift I’d been gifted originally was a noblewoman’s – someone who had a servant on hand to tie up her laces. It was likely Josephine’s own.

“Do you need this one back?” I asked, gesturing to the new shifts before pointing at myself.

“No, I have plenty to replace it,” she reassured me with a smile, confirming my suspicion.

She was diving back into the crate then, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “No more! It is too much.”

Josephine emerged with a laugh to echo my own. “It is not enough! It is only the beginning. You are one of the Inquisition, you must dress the part!”

But the next items she drew from the crate were pants so soft I almost couldn’t believe they were leather, and a thin, short-sleeved jerkin of the same material that would be snugly form fitting once the hidden laces on the sides were pulled taut. I couldn’t imagine walking around Skyhold in it, but as I searched for the words to say that to Josie, she pulled out a long white tunic that I realized was meant to go over the jerkin and pants. It was fitted, but conservatively so, and stitched in red on the left breast was a strangely curved symbol I had never seen before curled around the black-and-green insignia of the Inquisition. It was sleeveless, and around the seams flowed a beautiful gold embroidery.

“It is the new heraldry of the Skyhold Infirmary, to be worn by all of our healers. Yours, of course, is finer than the rest, which should arrive next week. As it should be, to reflect your station.”

“My station?” I asked, clasping the beautiful tunic to me in astonished adoration.

“Oh, yes! We cannot introduce you to the inevitable visiting nobles as the strange woman who fell out of a hole in the sky. They will confuse you with Hellen! And you made a valid point, in that you had many secrets to keep. Secrets are easier to keep, I have found, if nobody knows you carry them. So while you are the Seeress of the Inquisition in the war room, outside those walls you are the Infirmary Chief.”

“I am _what?_ ” I gasped.

“Chief of the Infirmary? Already your measures for sanitation and hygiene have reduced the number of daily sick call in the soldiery and eliminated all complaints of food poisoning. The infirmary population has dropped to the point that… well. You know as well as I, given the amount of time you spend there. There were some complaints at first, but once the results became obvious? There is no other logical explanation. I recognize you did not train as a _surgeon_ , which is why we decided to put you in charge of the infirmary, itself, and not try to brand you as a doctor. We knew you would resist.”

“No, that’s good. All good. I am so… so… honored? Is that the word?”

“I would be very pleased if it were!” Josie laughed.

“Good! Yes! Honored. But the other thing? What did you call me?”

“The Seeress of the Inquisition?”

I shook my head violently. “No. No, no, no.”

Josephine merely laughed again. “You can fight it out with Hellen when she returns. Don’t worry, _that_ title isn’t going on any official documentation. But you’ve been called that since you woke up predicting the blizzard and the assault on Haven. You even knew Roderick’s escape route, Maker keep him. There isn’t a simpler way to describe what it is that you do.”

She was right – there was no simpler title. And who was to say how a true _seeress_ got her knowledge of the future?

“I will, as you say, _fight it out_ with Hellen.”

“But the clothes, Gwen, the clothes! What do you think of the clothes?”

“I am going to need more of these,” I said lifting the tunic with a smile.

“Oh, my lady, where is your faith?” She winked and dove back into the crate, pulling out two more sets of pants and jerkin, and _five_ more embroidered tunics. “This is only the beginning.”

 

*

 

Dorian and I raided the kitchen the next day – with me wearing my new _Chief of the Infirmary_ uniform to make my demands seem less like banditry – and eventually came away with two small sacks of baking soda, of maybe a half-pound apiece. I led us directly to Blackwall’s haunt in the hayloft, where we found him whittling –the activity immediately answering Dorian’s question as to why we were there. Dorian helped me explain what I wanted, and Blackwall promised – a bit dubiously, I grant – to have two _tooth brushes_ carved for us by that afternoon. I told him I would also like two sticks, narrowed to a dull point, about as long as my hand and as wide as my finger, to use to pin up my hair in a world without elastics. Again, Dorian helped interpret for me, bless him, since he understood my language limitations.

It occurred to me as we returned to the main hall to stash our stolen soda in our respective rooms and then reconvene for lunch that no one had seemed to recognize me. I was nodded to as Dorian and I passed, given respect and leeway, but not one face had lit up with the spark of recognition. I had my hair tightly braided, and the uniform was flattering in ways I couldn’t describe, but something about the fineness of my clothes encouraged Thedosians to avoid looking at  my face.

We sat next to Varric in the main hall with sandwiches that were so close to BLTs – with ram replacing pig as the source of the bacon – that I referred to them as such and _devoured_ them whenever the kitchen had them available. I had brought an extra sandwich for the dwarf, and Dorian had brought down a second mug of the nutty brown ale they brewed in the cellar beneath the tavern, which was rumored to be opening soon.

“Thanks, Dorian,” the dwarf said without looking up from the long row of figures he seemed to be balancing. “Who’s your friend?”

“Have you met Gwen?” Dorian asked mildly.

“We have not been introduced,” I said, pleased with how _not broken_ the sentence had emerged from my throat.

Varric glanced up at my voice, double took, and then sat back with a breathy, “Woah.”

“Thank you,” I grinned. It was the kind of reaction a lady always appreciates.

“Josephine dressing you now?” he guessed.

I nodded. “I am new Chief of Infirmary.”

Varric grunted and took a long pull of ale. “I suppose that’s better than the _seeress_ bullshit they expected us to swallow.”

“Go on, dazzle him with some impossible insight,” Dorian egged me on.

I shook my head. “Varric has secrets for good reason,” I chided the Tevinter. “He protects others, not himself. I do not want him to think I would threaten them.”

The dwarf in question slowly put his mug down on the table. “The fuck did you just say?”

“No need to worry. I will guard your secrets like I do all else.”

“Now just what is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“You’re going to have to tell him something,” Dorian told me with obvious relish. “Otherwise he’ll think you’re either exceptionally shitty with the language or being intentionally obtuse.”

“But I am! Both of those things,” I laughed.

Varric simply scowled.

With a sigh, I leaned forward to be sure my voice would not carry past the immediate company. “When your bird comes, you should be very careful to avoid the Seeker. If Cassandra is not… Dorian?”

“Distracted?” Dorian supplied.

“Yes! Distracted. If Cassandra is not distracted she may kill you.”

“But I only just…” Varric glanced up, as if looking through the layers of stone at the rookery. “He hasn’t even said he would-“

He put both hands on the table as if to steady himself. “How the fuck did you do that?”

I grinned at him. “No worry, Varric. I keep your secrets.”

Varric didn’t seem to know what to think about any of this, so Dorian and I grinned cheesily at him and then set upon our sandwiches with gusto. After a moment, he grumbled something inaudible and joined in our silent feast.

We were leaning back and enjoying our tankards of ale – Dorian and I musing about when we should return to Blackwall and Varric back at work on his ledger – when Cullen paused at our table, likely on the way to the rookery or undercroft.

“Varric, Dorian. Are you both well?”

It was an odd question, until I realized Cullen was responding to my uniform. It was new, to me at least, but surely he knew about it, or it was a standardized style?

Dorian and Varric both affirmed their health, and I piped up, “How are _you_ , Commander?”

“I am well, m’lady,” he said, merely glancing at the heraldry on my tunic. It was plainly a lie.

I watched him recognize the gold trim on the tunic and laughed. “Please, call me Gwen, remember?” His eyes shot up to mine and he was _shocked_. It was _glorious_. It was everything I could do to control my laughter.

“Forgive me, my l-… Gwen. I did not recognize you.”

“You and everyone else,” Dorian quipped. “I don’t know what people were looking at before, but it seems to have _not_ been her face.”

Cullen – and Varric, I was amused to see – went beet red at the implication. I worked to stifle the laugh.

“Yes. Well. When you want your headache treated, you know how to find me.”

Cullen strode away – rather rudely, I had to admit – without answering.

“I have _never_ seen that man so rattled,” Dorian cooed, reaching his hand toward me. “Since Hellen left yesterday morning I’ve had _two_ baths, stolen a supply of baking soda, seen Varric double take, and witnessed the Commander lose his composure. Gwennie darling, don’t tell Hellen, but you are my _favorite_.”

“I will not tell,” I promised, and took the proffered hand.

“The question,” Varric rejoined the conversation, leaning over the table with a leer, “is how Hellen will feel when she finds out Dorian has replaced her as _your_ favorite, Perky.”

“Perky?” I repeated.

Varric merely grinned.

 _I got a nickname from Varric_. Regardless of how ridiculous the moniker was – I was a decade older than Dorian, or damn near, and altogether too old to be _perky_ – the idea that the dwarf gave _me_ a nickname was enough to make me giddy.

To answer, I tapped my ring finger on the table. “Hellen was my _second_ favorite,” I told Varric gently, knowing from Dorian that the dwarf had money riding on the Inquisitor and I as more-than-friends. “She listens well, and does not let me be alone when I miss my husband. She is a good friend.”

Varric’s jaw went a bit slack, but otherwise he hid his surprise well. As I expected he would. “You’re married?” he clarified. “To a man.”

I nodded. “For ten years now.”

“Well, shit. Where is he, Perky?”

I felt my eyes well over with tears that I was helpless to contain. I shrugged at Varric, taking the handkerchief Dorian immediately offered. “Home? Better question, why am I here with out him?”

“Andraste’s tits,” Varric sighed. “We need more beer for this.”

“I need… to go. Work to do, now,” I said, plucking my tunic.

“Right, right. Responsibilities. And it _is_ just lunchtime. They’re opening up the tavern tomorrow, I hear. We can get a sneak peek tonight, I’m sure, if you’re interested. You know where to find me.”

I nodded and rose. Dorian followed me, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “I will grab the slate and join you? In case you find time for a lesson.”

I nodded, and made my way to the infirmary.

There were – for the first time – no patients to be seen. No patients meant no other healers, so I had the large room to myself. I hoped we would never fill it, but I knew Adamant – and the Arbor Wilds – were yet on the horizon. It was possible soldiers (I had to refrain from calling them _men_ , as they were almost as likely to be _women_ ) would come home from rotations in Ferelden or Orlais injured and have need of our services. I started on an inventory – although there was painfully little to find, and nobody but me could read my English script. After I had an inventory, I brainstormed a list of things I would like to have – or the Thedosian equivalent. Could the infirmary keep healing potions, or was that a magic-user-only specialty? It might be very handy if I could learn alchemy, given the medicines I was used to would be nonexistent here.

I added that to the list – _learn alchemy/acquire alchemist?_ – when I realized I wasn’t alone in the infirmary any longer.

I glanced up – expecting Dorian – and double-took when I realized my visitor was a blond in furred pauldrons.

I quickly stood up from the desk in the back of the room. “Commander Cullen! I am sorry. I thought… you were Dorian.”

He waved me back down, and pulled over a chair to sit across from me. “No, please, allow me to apologize. I was rude to you earlier, in the main hall. First when I did not recognize you, and then when I left so abruptly. It was… unlike me. I am sorry.”

I gave him my best smile – which Dorian had confirmed was a hell of a weapon – and cared for my quill as Josephine had taught me, to preserve the tip when it was stored. “No worry,” I reassured him, making a mental note to ask Hellen for the appropriate response to accept an apology without sidestepping it like I had been. “Dorian did not help.”

Cullen coughed a laugh. “Yes. That is… standard, for Dorian.”

“How are you?” I asked, setting aside my notes.

“You know, I presume, about the source of my headaches?”

I nodded. “How long has it been, now? That you have gone with out?”

“Six months,” he confessed, bringing one hand to the back of his neck and rubbing roughly. It was such a _Cullen_ thing to do that I had to bite back a smile. “Since the day I tendered my resignation to the Kirkwall templars.”

“To templars? Or just to Kirkwall?”

His lip twitched with a ghost of a smile. “To the templar order.”

“Right,” I nodded. “And headaches started when?”

“Shortly after I arrived in Haven, although it was weeks before they were more than minor annoyances. They’ve only become distracting since Haven was lost.”

I nodded again. “Did Haven remind you of Kinloch?”

His eyes widened. “Maker’s breath. Is there anything you _don’t_ know?”

I nodded again. “I have a shitty grasp of time.”

It surprised a laugh out of him, and I saw Dorian appear briefly in the doorway before disappearing with a smirk.

“One minute, please,” I told Cullen and dashed to the door. “Dorian!”

“Oh, no, darling, _please_ don’t let me interrupt.”

“Can you make-“ I realized I didn’t know the word for _ice_. It’s not like they put ice in their drinks.

“Shit.” I breathed in English.

“Can I make what?” he asked, immediately realizing my problem.

I mimed a ball with my hands. “Water. Very cold, until hard. Not _snow_ …”

He laughed, and said what must have been _ice_. He held his hand out, and I cupped my hands under it. An instant later, a ball of ice dropped into my palms.

“Yes! Say it again?”

Laughing, he repeated the word, and I whispered it to myself as I walked away, hands cupped around the ball.

I sat back down in the chair across the desk from Cullen. “Sorry. Now. Tell me where it hurts.”

He glanced at my hands – I didn’t know if he’d heard my exchange with Dorian from there – but dutifully answered my question. The worst of it was in the back of his head, and it radiated down his neck into his shoulders. As it progressed, it would form a tight band around his forehead until simple sunlight caused blinding pain and he had to lay in darkened silence until it passed.

“Right. Next time that happens, you find me. Wake me up if you have to. Yes?”

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but I gestured at the emblem on my tunic and was rewarded with another ghost of a smile. “Yes, ser.”

“Good. Now. Put your head on desk, here.”

“Excuse me?”

“Trust me?”

He sighed and tipped his head to the edge of the desk while I stood and moved to stand beside him. I set the ice down in a mug that had previously held water but now stood dry and empty. My hands were so cold they _ached_ , and when I pressed my thumbs into the muscles at the base of Cullen’s skull the air hissed out of him.

His skin was _hot_ , painfully scalding hot against the frigidity of my hands, and I massaged my fingertips into the muscles of his neck and shoulders – whatever I could reach given the heavy armor he wore. The tension poured off him, and by the time the feeling returned to my fingertips, the musculature of his neck was relaxed. I ran my hands into his hair, and rubbed his scalp until his hands dangled limply at his sides and his breath was slow and even.

I stepped quietly back to the other side of the desk and retrieved my quill. I pulled out a new sheet of paper – which was becoming less of a luxury as Josephine brought more merchants to Skyhold – and made a small notation at the very top of the page. I had to think a moment for how I would date the log I intended to write, as the Thedosian calendar was more than a little subjective. I did some quick math – remembering almost a moment too late about the five days I’d spent unconscious en route to Haven – and settled on the number of days I had spent in Thedas.  
_Day 43_ , I wrote just to the left of my note. _Cullen permitted treatment. Chilled hands (ice from Dorian) used to massage neck, shoulders, and scalp to good effect_.

After considering the note for a minute, I added a second line beneath it. _First Official Day: Chief of Infirmary_.

“I have been a fool,” Cullen murmured, his voice muffled by the desk.

“No,” I laughed.

“Oh, yes,” he asserted, slowly sitting up to blink at me with drowsy eyes. Sexy, liquid eyes _god damn it_. “I should have come to you about my headaches the first minute you mentioned it to me, if that’s all the more it takes to alleviate them.”

“So it helps?”

He nodded. “ _You_ helped. Thank you.”

“You are welcome,” I said with a smile. “I am happy to do it again, anytime. Just so long as I can find ice.”

“I will _definitely_ take you up on that,” Cullen breathed.

He was looking at me, smiling in that lopsided, endearing sort of way, when I noticed something shift in his expression. It was subtle – I wasn’t even sure I’d seen it – but then he was excusing himself, apologizing for taking up my time, and vanishing out the door. Dorian sidled in almost the moment Cullen left.

“Please, _please_ tell me that the Commander is your type?”

I rolled my eyes. “You have no idea.”

“Wonderful!” Dorian crowed. “Do trip him into bed, will you? You would be my absolute _hero_.”

I tapped my wedding ring on the desk. “Married, remember?”

Dorian threw himself into the chair Cullen had just vacated. “Your husband likely believes himself a widower.”

I recoiled as if slapped, and Dorian immediately leapt to his feet, coming around the desk with alacrity to kneel at my feet. “Forgive me, Gwen, I did not mean to injure. I am not the most subtle of men, I should have spoken better – or not at all.”

“I can not...” I started, swallowed, took a steadying breath, tried again. “I can not think of it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.”

“No,” Dorian breathed. “No, of course not. I apologize, truly.”

I nodded, and reached a hand out to cup his cheek. “I… I do not know the proper way to accept.”

He smiled at me. “You say, _I forgive you_ , and you still love me in spite of my ungracious tongue.”

“I forgive you, and I love you still.”

“You say that, and I almost believe it.”

“Believe it, Dorian.”

He threw himself back into the chair. “What do you say, then, Gwennie love? Shall we sing our alphabet or brush our teeth?”

I laughed, the feeling of being a child again wholly at odds at the way I missed my husband and the uncomfortable surge of lust I so often felt when Cullen smiled at me. “I will take a lesson, first. Then we will visit Blackwall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work count: 6167  
> You're welcome.


	9. Pt I Ch 9: Bibliophile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Posted for grimmcake, who is going to draw a comic for us in exchange. Right, Grimmy? <3

Hellen was gone for most of the next month. I spent that time engrossed in lessons with Dorian. He had me reading children’s books by the end of the first week, as once I knew the sounds each letter represented – and got used to the lettering being vertical instead of horizontal – it was simple to sound out each word. I read slowly aloud to him, pausing each time I found a word I did not know so Dorian could define it. Sometimes he struggled with the definitions of simple words, since the gaps in my knowledge were slightly bizarre. I didn’t know the names of all the animals, for instance, nor the different kinds of weather or gems or rocks. I had to learn my colors and vegetables… the things children learn naturally while growing up, I did not know. More than once, my questions took us on trips to the undercroft or the kitchen, so Dorian could answer a question with a physical example rather than trying to explain to me that the word I was confused by was the Common word for _quartz_.

I tried to give Cullen back the primer, but he politely declined. “You have a better reason to have it than I do. I noticed it sitting on a pile of rubble slated to be hauled out of the keep, and the memory of sitting by the fire with Mia teaching me to read prompted me to rescue the book from the refuse heap. It was mere sentimentality; it will better serve in your hands.”

“I do not want to separate you from a memory of your sister,” I protested. “Please, take it.”

He pressed the book back into my hands. “Let it be the first volume in your own library. My gift to your bookshelves.”

By the end of the third week, I had a shopping list for the infirmary submitted to the quartermaster, I was reading _The Tale of the Champion_ to Dorian and _The Chant of Light_ to Bull, depending upon which man was free. Bull was wonderful to read to, since he could tell me the Qunlat version of any words I didn’t know, which was why I took the harder reading to him. Reading Varric’s book was filling me in on the details of Hawke’s life, as much from what was left out as from what was mentioned. Hawke wasn’t specifically outed as a mage, but Bethany had died in the escape from Lothering, and the Champion seemed to have an easier time relating to Anders and Merrill than Fenris.

I had plenty of opportunity to get independent verification, since Cullen visited me four days running with a blinding headache before we simply agreed to a standing date. Every evening, a few hours after dinner, I would meet Dorian and/or Varric in the Heralds Rest – Cole and Blackwall would make appearances occasionally, and Cabot was far more engaging in real life – for a drink or three before getting a ball of ice from Dorian and heading up to Cullen’s office. I would tell the Commander what I had read that day (even if it was from the Chant rather than Varric’s book) and he would give me the version of events in Kirkwall _he_ knew. Usually it ran very close to Varric’s story, if a bit simpler.

“When did you know Hawke was a mage?” I asked him on what I had notated in my log to be _Day 67_.

Cullen sighed. “I knew _for sure_ about five seconds ago,” he confessed. “When did I suspect? When his brother, Carver, became a templar, while Garrett was in the Deep Roads. It was more Carver’s actions – and the misplaced sense of _shame_ he carried with him – that made me wonder about Hawke. He had kept such a low profile – and left so few witnesses – that no one had even considered he would have the audacity to be an apostate.”

“And when you saw him in the Gallows, the day Anders and Meredith went crazy? Was it not obvious?”

“Was he wearing robes and a staff across his back, you mean?” he laughed. “No. Not even then. He wore armor unlike anyone else’s, with blades on his shoulders and a sash of red against the black… well. You read Varric’s description, or you will. The dwarf does it more justice then I could hope to. His weapon was more like a polearm than a staff, although I realize now that was an intentional deception. I never got a clear look at the way he fought, either, but he was always covered with blood…”

Cullen’s voice faded away and a bit of tension seeped back into his shoulders.

“Don’t…” I tried to say soothingly, but a bit of threat crept into my voice. “Relax, Cullen, it is far out of your hands now.”

“Maker’s breath.” The words almost oozed out of him as he concentrated on relaxing, as per my command. “Please tell me he wasn’t a blood mage.”

“I do not know for sure,” I admitted. “But it is not impossible. His companion, Merrill, definitely was.”

Cullen blew out an exasperated breath. “You cannot be serious.”

“Dead serious. I wouldn’t mention it to Varric, though, he is awful protective of Daisy.”

“Speaking of which,” Cullen said, sitting upright. I danced to the side, so he wasn’t putting his face directly into my chest when he turned to talk to me. “I heard he has started calling _you_ ‘Perky’.”

“Don’t remind me,” I groaned.

“Was it meant sarcastically?” he asked. It took me a moment to realize he was teasing, and I rolled my eyes.

“I _take_ it that way,” I asserted. “I’m too old to be _perky_.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow, which in turn pulled on his scar and gave him a crooked little smirk. _Unacceptably sexy_.

I dropped the ice ball into my water mug – I would often wake in the night, thirsty, and the heat of my room beneath the kitchen will have melted it into a nice glass of cool water – rather than answer right away.

“You cannot say something like that and then not elaborate,” Cullen teased.

I rolled my eyes again. “I am likely older than _you_ , Cullen. Do you really want to know?”

“I doubt that,” he scoffed.

“I have been married for _eight years_.”

He shrugged. “Alright.”

“I married him when I left college.”

Another shrug. “And?”

“I _started_ college when I was 18.”

The eyebrow went back up. “No.”

“Yes.”

“How long were you in college?”

“Four years.”

“You’re thirty?”

“I am.”

He blew out a breath of relief. “I still have you beat, then, if not by much.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I’ll be thirty-three soon enough.”

“Good for you. The statement stands – I am too damn old to be _perky_.”

“And I’m not too old to be _curly_?”

“You’ve both got ten damn years before you get to complain about being too damn old for _anything_ ,” Varric said from the open door to the main hall. “You whiny little shits.”

I found myself leaning on Cullen’s shoulder as we both laughed at the dwarf’s interruption.

“What do you need, Varric?” Cullen asked after I’d remembered myself and stepped away. Cullen had too easily become my friend.

“A raven just came from the glowy green giant. She’s escorting home the soldiers she rescued from the Fallow Mire. It’s slow going, but she sent a bird once she was in the Hinterlands. We should see her in three days.”

“Oh, wonderful. Does Dorian know?”

Varric shook his head. “I figured you would need to consult with Sparkler about alternative bathing arrangements.”

“Bathing arrangements?” Cullen asked me archly. I swatted at him and made my escape.

“Thanks, Varric! Three days should be enough time to get the casks moved.”

“Casks?” Cullen repeated, laughing.

“Good night, Cullen!” I called over my shoulder and ran for the main hall.

 _Hellen was coming home_.

Dorian and I had our work cut out for us. His room was far too drafty for bathing, Hellen’s water closet wouldn’t accommodate three casks, Josephine strictly forbade us from junking up the décor in the Inquisitor’s room with bath tubs, and my room was… well. It was a dark little hole, and I _loved it_. My room was honestly never considered for a bath room. It was so small I could only fit a narrow bed and a slip of a desk in it; Josephine had found me a captain's bed with drawers under it for my meager wardrobe, and with a few shelves as a headboard it was everything I could want. One candle sat on my desk and another in my washroom, and perfected my little retreat from the madness that was this world.

“What we need,” I told Dorian the next morning, producing a fat roll of maps of Skyhold, mostly drawn by Twitch, “is a warm, sunny room. It needs to be out of the way but easily accessible. It needs to have cistern access and above all, it has to not already be in use.”

We poured over the drawings for an hour before our solution became clear. “Here,” Dorian said, indicated the top floor of the tower in the southeastern corner of the keep. “Morning sun, not being used, militarily useless, huge, and relatively intact.”

“Also, a short walk from the infirmary, and not currently sharing a cistern with anything else.”

We set out for the proposed bath site, and were immediately disappointed.

The room was disgusting.

Centuries of dust and filth caked the floors. One of the windows had been broken out, and countless generations of birds had been born – and apparently died – here. There was a… _smell_ … that I did not equate with cleanliness. Quite the opposite, really.

“I can’t bathe here,” I gagged.

Dorian responded by – literally – pushing up his sleeves. “Go find a couple of Chargers to help you carry the tubs. I can handle this. Oh, and maybe steal a window from one of the other towers while you’re at it.”

I couldn’t leave fast enough. If the Tevinter mage had some Harry Potter level _scourgify_ action up his sleeve, that was his business.

I had borrowed a handful of Chargers – bribed them, really, with a silver each out of my very first (and very generous) paycheck – and was almost back to the tower room with the three half-casks when Cole appeared beside me. “I found you a window,” he whispered.

“Cole! Oh, you’re the best,” I replied happily. “Take it up to Dorian, would you dear?”

He disappeared without another word. He wasn’t in the hereafter-named _bathroom_ when we returned, but the replaced window told me he’d been there.

The room was so clean, it was better described as _pristine_.

“Jesus Mary and Joseph,” I cried, dropping the tub I had been carrying and nearly braining myself in the process. “Are we in the right room?”

Dorian seemed out of breath, and had a thin veneer of sweat across his forehead and beading up on his nose, but otherwise he was cool and collected, leaning against the wall just behind the open door. He told the Chargers to put the casks down anywhere, and flipped them each a silver for their trouble – the three volunteers had made out like _bandits_ – and then we had the room to ourselves.

“How did you...?”

He waved his fingers at me, in a gesture identical to one I’d gotten from Hellen. “Magic, darling.”

“Obviously.”

“Do you want a lecture on magical theory?”

I paused in the act of rolling the smallest cask – the one sized for me – to the corner farthest from the door. “Actually, yes.”

Dorian’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

“It’s information I don’t have, so yes. Yes, really. And I have some questions about alchemy, too.”

“Ugh, find Adan, or Solas, or one of the _Tranquil_ for that. Actually, no – ask Vivienne, if she will tolerate you. The woman is the foremost alchemist _in the world_ , if you can believe it. I always forget _our_ Vivienne is _that_ Vivienne.”

“I am… not comfortable with the idea of approaching Vivienne uninvited.”

“Your other choices aren’t much better.”

“I need to have a chat with Solas when he returns, anyways. I will bring it up with him.”

Dorian quirked an eyebrow at me. “Everybody is entitled to their own secrets, Master Pavus,” I chided.

He replied with a flourish, and then returned to the work of setting the casks in place.

We had to give the room a trial run, of course, and a short while later we were both up to our necks in hot water.

I sighed happily. “As much as I didn’t mind sharing Hellen’s cask with you, Dorian, this is _so_ much better.”

“No offense taken, love. Also, how are your feet _always cold_?”

“Believe me, if I knew, I would fix it.”

He snorted a laugh, and then we sat in companionable silence for the rest of the morning.

I spent the afternoon – and all of the next day – preparing the infirmary for the soldiers from the Fallow Mire. Many of the supplies I had requisitioned had arrived, and I had created a shelving system next to my desk to store it all in. It took a few hours to track down the healers who were technically my underlings – they had scattered to pursue other interests, I was told – and I got a staff together to care for the incoming wounded. When the message came that Hellen was one day out of Skyhold, I scooped up my courage and went to see Leliana.

“My goodness,” she purred, “what brings you up here?”

“Welcome to my parlor, said the spider to the fly,” I replied, glancing around the rookery without attempting to hide my nervousness.

Leliana laughed, utterly in her element. “That has the hallmarks of good story. Pity I have not heard it.”

“I have a question for you, lady Nightingale.”

“So I assumed.”

I explained to her, then, what I had done since being named Infirmary Chief, and how I would like confirmation of how many injured were being brought in with Hellen the next day. Leliana seemed overjoyed at the gap in my knowledge.

“Surely you _know_ how many soldiers there are, my lady Seeress?” she purred.

I sighed. “The writers of the book – the game – did not include that information. I don’t know their names, their genders, or how badly they are injured. I know that _if_ the Inquisitor chooses to go to the Fallow Mire, she finds the missing soldiers in a side room of a wrecked castle. She has to fight the son of some Avvar chieftain to the death before they can be freed, but I got only a glimpse of them when the door opens. They are well enough to make their own way home in the story I know. Did Hellen wait too long to fetch them? Did they fall in the water and be attacked by undead? I do not know. Rather than be unprepared, I came to ask you.”

Leliana was smiling like the cat that caught the canary. I was willing to let her have her victory, except I was beginning to suspect she was going to withhold the information I had sought. I chose to go on the offensive, instead.

“When Solona freed the Circle Tower at Kinloch, how many mages died?”

The smile slowly faded from Leliana’s face.

“Did you count? Or did you know it was not needed at the time, and something someone else would tally for you, if you _really_ needed it later?”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, but I wasn’t done.

“How many werewolves did the Lady of the Forest convert back into humans? Could you know? Are you _sure_ there were none outside that part of the forest when the curse was broken? Or did that even matter, at the time?”

When Leliana did not answer, I spoke softer. “I ask, because I do not know. I also did not count the bodies of the mages, nor the survivors. I did not tally the werewolves, nor did I pick through the elven dead. If I ask, it is because I do not know, and I respect your ability to gather that information. I do not seek to replace you, for I _cannot_. So I ask you, please, Sister Leliana. How many injured soldiers should I expect? I want to be able to care for them properly, and seek to have the right amount of people on hand to help.”

“There were six,” she answered, her voice barely a breeze against the hurricane of rustling wings. “One died on the road.”

I bowed my head. “Thank you, my lady,” I said without irony. I turned my back to her and made my way down the stairs.


	10. Pt I Ch 10: The Hands of a Healer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen introduces some modern medicine to Thedas.

I met Hellen at the gate late the next morning with a dozen Chargers, the head surgeon, and four healers that in my world I would have called nurses. The equivalent word, here, was reserved for breastfeeding women, and so I had learned to gravitate towards the safer _healer_. Stitches had heard my plea for Chargers to carry stretchers, and volunteered his services for the day. I could have kissed him.

The cart carrying the wounded rolled across the gates first, and I assigned two Chargers to each patient; the last two were for the body I hoped had been burned, but was prepared to receive. My suspicion was proven true – the soldier who perished en route had been given his last rites in their camp the morning before – and so two of my mercenaries were off the hook early. I stayed with the cart until the last soldier was lifted free, and then I followed the procession up to the infirmary. I heard Hellen’s voice behind me before I turned the corner in the courtyard, “Where’s Gwen?”

I did some preliminary assessments on the way, and decided that Lyal, the strawberry blond archer, was in the most trouble. I directed the head surgeon to her as soon as we reached the infirmary. Devon, a stick-thin dagger rogue from the Bannorn, had a gash across his chest that – somehow – had both missed everything important and _not_ gone septic but desperately needed something to draw out the infection that was slowly but surely creeping in. Stitches said he had just the thing, and I sent him scurrying over. The other three were in various stages of shock, exhaustion, and dehydration. Their wounds were minor, and they needed time and quiet more than anything else. I sent one of the nurses – _healers_ , damnit – down to the kitchen for bland bread and broth while the other three helped me settle the remaining three soldiers – Viole, Ricker, and Uther – in the darkest, quietest corner of the infirmary. They had clear views of the windows, and would be able to watch the soldiers on their rounds on the ramparts, if they woke up in the night and were confused.

I assigned one healer to each soldier, and tasked them with providing a bath (keeping an eye out for undisclosed injuries), change of clothes, and fresh water to each of them. Once food arrived, they were to make sure our charges ate – slowly – but focus on rehydration. Once I received a round of nods (from all six of them, patients as well as healers, which struck me as _hilarious_ ), I turned my attention back to Stitches. He had the situation well under hand, so I offered my aid to the head surgeon.

She was barbaric, having been taught to bleed out infections and balance humors. She was young, though, and eagerly absorbed new information. She had been the first to recognize the change mandatory handwashing had brought to Skyhold, and was subsequently the first to embrace anything I proposed. All of those were definite contributions to _her_ being the head surgeon, and not some of the older gentlemen I had worked with.

She grinned as I approached, but I could see it was the kind of fake smile a doctor plastered on their face when they didn’t want you to know just how bad things really were. As I got to the side of the bed, I could smell the decay in the wound she had uncovered.

It was high on the leg and deep, through all the layers of dermis and muscle; bone glinted whitely as Lyal tried desperately to hold still.

The surgeon – Eleanor, named for the Teryna of Highever when she was born – made a few gestures that told me she believed Lyal needed to lose the leg, as a last attempt to save her life.

It was bad – the smell confirmed it – but there was no streaking, she wasn’t feverish, and I didn’t think she’d yet gone septic. Hellen had taken extra potions with her, and surely had been feeding them to Lyal and Devon on the road. I knew magic couldn’t heal everything – and Skyhold seemed to be decidedly lacking in spirit healers – but I wasn’t ready to amputate yet. Enough of Patrick’s friends were amputees that I knew it was truly the option of last resort.

I shook my head, and the smile on Eleanor’s face dipped. “I think we can save your leg, Lyal,” I told the archer – only then realizing she was Dalish, her vallaslin very subtle shades of yellow and brown, nearly blending in with her skin. Her eyes widened and the fight went out of her limbs. “Ma’seranas,” she breathed. “Thank the creators for you.”

I laid a hand on her forehead. “You are not out of trouble, yet,” I told her, and she clenched her jaw, gave me a determined nod of her head.

“I need… wow. Things I don’t know if we can get, and things I _definitely_ don’t have the words for.”

“Should we send for Bull?” Stitches asked from the next bed over, where he was finishing the second layer of bandages across Devon’s blessedly superficial chest wound.

Just then, the fourth healer returned with a half-a-dozen kitchen staff, bearing a huge tureen of broth, a heaping plate of rolls, and the associated bowls and spoons. I called him over, letting the other three healers divide up the food between our charges. “I am sorry to send you off on another errand, but I need salt and silver. You can probably find them in the undercroft. _Beg_ Harritt if you have to.”

The man nodded and vanished.

“We’re going to keep your leg open,” I told Lyal, and by extension Eleanor. “If we stitch it up now, the infection will spread and we’ll just have to open it up again. So we’re going to pack it with things that should kill the infection, and I am going to personally babysit you to make sure no new infection sets in. Hopefully we get it cleaned so we can close it, and then we’ll watch you to make sure you don’t develop an infection later on. You’re going to live in the infirmary for awhile, do you understand?”

She nodded. “You keep that leg on my body and I’ll do whatever you say.”

“You might regret that,” I threatened. Her eyes jerked up to mine, and the smile on my face brought a wide grin to hers.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry,” I said to one of the kitchen staff as she started to leave. She seemed to know who I was – the _other_ title that wasn’t supposed to leave the war room – and was clearly terrified. “I hate to make you come all the way back up here, but is there any honey in the kitchen? And, if so, could you bring me some? No more than you could fit in a tea cup, as thick as you can get it.”

She nodded – clearly as baffled as she was frightened – and bolted out the door. She nearly ran into the dwarf who was striding through at the same time.

“Are you the offworlder charlatan who wants my silver?”

I double-took. “Dagna?”

She had short-cropped auburn hair and a button nose. Her voice wasn’t exactly what I remembered – but neither were the strident tones. It was entirely possible that she spoke differently to the people she respected as opposed to, well… everyone else. I had only experienced her interactions with Heroes and Harritt, after all.

“Say what you want about the Inquisition calling me a _seeress_ , I am definitely a healer. The offworlder bit is correct. So is my need for silver. Did you bring it? I need a saltwater solution, as well.”

“They said you didn’t speak Common,” she said, her eyes narrowing.

“I learned,” I answered curtly. We didn’t have time for this. “Are you going to help me save this woman’s leg or are you going to get in my way?”

 _That_ surprised her. “What percentage of salt did you need in the solution?”

“Less than one percent,” I answered. Her eyes flew wide. “And the silver?”

“I…” I sighed. “I don’t have the right word.”

“Try it in Qunlat,” Dagna suggested, in perfect, unaccented English.

“Jesus Mary and Joseph,” I said, staggered. “I need colloidal silver and a point-nine percent solution of saline.”

“I will get it for you,” Dagna promised, speaking in Common again and already I could hear the shift in her tone. “I know why you want the salt water. But why the silver?”

“Bring it up, and I will tell you while I work.”

Dagna nodded and hurried out the door.

“Who the bloody fuck was that?” Stitches asked.

“The Arcanist, Dagna, daughter of Janar, of the Smith caste. The greatest mind of our age. She left Orzammar to study in the Circle of Ferelden, once it was rebuilt after the Blight.”

“Blessed creators, you are what they say,” Lyal gasped.

“Blessed creators, indeed, for bringing her to my side right when she could do the most to save you,” I answered the elf.

She nodded, still obviously awestruck.

Dagna returned just as I finished laying out all the supplies we would need, and Eleanor agreed to be my assistant, and perhaps my student, while I debrided Lyal’s wound and packed it. The Arcanist had a pot of colloidal silver and an oversized flask of normal saline that looked to be three or four liters’ worth.

“Beautiful,” I thanked her. “Anybody seen that girl I sent to the kitchen?”

“I’ll get her,” Stitches said, and I nodded my consent before he strode from the room.

With Dagna watching, Eleanor and I rolled Lyal onto her right side – the wound being on her left leg – and put a shallow pan on the floor. I had gotten large steel syringes made – essentially a barrel inside a tube, easy enough for a master like Harritt to fabricate – and used one to pressurize the saline and rinse the dead and decaying flesh out of Lyal’s leg. We stopped three times to empty the pan – right into the toilets to drop into the lava river far below – before the smell of death started to leave the air. We went through half of the flask of salt water before I was content, and Dagna immediately agreed to keep me supplied with the solution. “I know the proportion is important,” she asserted.

I explained the silver as I was carefully applying it to the newly exposed, healthy flesh. “If you make a cup of sugar water, and leave it sitting, what happens to it?”

“Shit grows on it,” Eleanor laughed.

“Right. If you leave a cup of honey out, what happens?”

“Nothing,” Dagna said, eyes narrowing. It seemed to be an indication of deep thought, rather than any emotion.

“Does anything ever _grow_ on the metals in the smithy?”

Dagna shook her head, but stayed silent.

“But shit grows on wood, and straw, and sugar water, and meat left out too long?”

“Are you saying you can control where mold grows?” Eleanor said, with just enough laughter in her voice to protect herself in case her assumption was wrong.

“More than that,” Dagna said slowly. “She’s saying there are specific conditions in which things grow…”

“ _Germ theory_ ,” I said to the Arcanist in English. “The idea that infections – from mold, bacteria, viruses – are caused by microscopic organisms latent in the environment. By inhibiting their growth – or outright killing them – you can cure most ailments.”

Dagna took a few steps, sat heavily in my chair and my desk, and collapsed into total silence.

“Heavy metals – like silver – impair infection,” I told Lyal and Eleanor in Common. “I can’t give you too much, because heavy metal poisoning could hurt you as much as it could help. Medicine is a balance. If all you ate was elfroot, you’d eventually waste away.”

Lyal nodded her understanding. Eleanor seemed to be thinking as hard as Dagna was.

“I’m going to soak these bandages in the silver, and then line the wound with it. I’ll put slightly damp bandages in the middle, like the filling in a pastry. Then, I’m going to put a thin layer of honey – there’s Stitches with it now – over the outside.”

“Why honey?” Dagna asked, surprising us. I had written her off as too lost in thought to contribute.

“There is _so much_ sugar in honey, it dries out anything that tries to live in it. Like the tree sap with flies stuck in it?”

Lyal nodded, likely having seen much of that growing up in the woods of Thedas. Eleanor just shrugged.

“I’m putting this over the top to seal the wound, almost like another layer of bandage. My thought is, the silver will kill the infection inside the wound. The two layers of packing will pull all the unwanted things away from your flesh, and honey will keep anything new from getting in.”

Lyal nodded rapidly, Eleanor following suit slower. Dagna was nodding as well, but at an almost absently slow pace.

“How…” Lyal swallowed, catching her breath, and I realized she’d borne what was probably an insanely painful debridement without so much as a whimper. “How will the… the dead infection… get out of my leg?”

“I’m so sorry,” I told her, pausing as I evened out the thin layer of honey across the length of her wound. “I will have to clean and repack your wound every few days, to keep pulling the infection out.”

She paled a bit, but nodded.

“I will ask Vivienne to mix something for you to take, to help with the pain. And you will keep taking healing potions as much as possible. I need to talk to an alchemist and learn what the safe dosage is.”

Lyal nodded. “I can withstand it.”

I scoffed. “Obviously. You just powered through this like it was nothing.” I glanced up and saw her swell a bit with pride.

“But just because you _can_ withstand it, does not mean that it is right for you to have to. I am not comfortable, as a healer, inflicting pain on someone, even if it is to dress a wound or set a bone. I realize sometimes I _must_ , but I do not have to like it.”

Lyal slowly smiled. “So I need to take something for my pain, to make _you_ feel better?”

“There’s my clever girl,” I said with a grin, and her answering smile widened.

“We need to talk,” Dagna announced from my desk.

“Yes,” I agreed mildly. “Yes, we do.”

“I feel like I know _nothing_ ,” Eleanor breathed.

“If I ever actually need help taking a limb off,” I said, making sure I made the mere idea seem ridiculous, conscious of Lyal’s rapt attention, “you will be the teacher and _I_ will be the student, I promise you.”

Eleanor snorted. “Fair enough.”

“When?” Dagna pressed, now standing at my side.

“Lyal is my prime concern at the moment,” I answered. “I will be spending most of my time here in the coming days. You are welcome to find me here. If I have free time, I will come find you in the undercroft. Neither of us are going anywhere anytime soon, Dagna.”

She nodded, and then made a show of taking stock of my supplies, even though I was confident she had seen everything in the room within seconds of walking through the door. “You need better instruments.”

“You know,” I said, keeping my eyes on the rolls of bandages Eleanor and I were wrapping around Lyal’s leg, “I was almost giddy when I realized you were here. I have a thousand things I want to ask you to make. And I am curious how much you will know about what they are for.”

“Curious?” Dagna asked, pausing on her way to the door. “You?”

I nodded. “I know who people are, what choices they will be faced with, what decisions they _might_ make. But I am no mind reader. Think of me as an old friend you simply can’t remember. I met you in Orzammar, standing at the shoulder of Solona Amell, but you just couldn’t see me there.”

Dagna got that almost-frown look of focus and then her expression cleared. “I think I can accept a new old friend.”

I glanced up in time to wink at her before she turned on her heel and left the infirmary with a smile.

Once we had Lyal’s leg wrapped, Eleanor checked on each of the other rescued soldiers to make sure nothing was missed while I helped the elven archer get washed up and changed into fresh clothes. One of the other healers – I really needed to learn their names – helped me change out the bed while two others helped Lyal to the water closet to relieve herself. I heard them explaining the importance of washing her hands afterward, and I grinned to myself as we worked. I set a tray across Lyal’s lap (with tiny table legs, to keep it from pressing on her wound) when she settled back into bed and gave her a bowl of broth with hunks of bread and a huge glass of water, with the promise of honey in her tea that evening if she ate slow and kept everything down.

Devon and the other three were all bathed, fed, and in various stages of sleep when I finally sat down at my desk and started a new log. _Day 70 Overall – Day 1 Lyal/Devon/Ricker/Viole/Uther_

I could write in Common, now – the sheer amount of reading I had been doing had guaranteed that, as it broadened my vocabulary daily – but something about seeing the tiny English characters across the top of the page appealed to me. That, and I’d had patient privacy drilled into me by the American medical system for so long that writing my notes in a language literally no one else could read was clearly my best option.

“You never stop,” a quiet voice interrupted my documentation.

I glanced up to see Hellen, laying across one of the unoccupied beds on her stomach, chin propped in her hands.

“How long have you been there?”

“You were spreading honey on an elf-“ Lyal snorted a laugh, clearly not completely asleep yet “-and there was a dwarf at your desk. Was she the Arcanist?”

I nodded. “Dagna. She’s something else.”

“You changed so much while I was away,” the Inquisitor whispered, with more than a little regret.

“You gave me a job. Josie gave me new clothes – fantastic new clothes, might I add? – and Dorian taught me to read. I’ve been reading the Chant to Bull and Varric’s books to Dorian.”

Hellen laughed weakly. “Of everything in the library, why did you decide on _those_?”

I grinned. “I wanted to know about Hawke, for one. And how can you drink with Varric and _not_ read his books? As for the Chant… I have heard much of it, if in the wrong language. It doesn’t rhyme in English, and it was surprising to hear it rhyme in Common. The rhythm is different, it is… just altogether better in the original language. And given that I’m _part_ of the Inquisition, which is a creation of Divine Justinia…? Knowing the Chant seemed wise.”

Hellen slowly shook her head. “You could barely speak when I left. And now, look at you! You don’t even _look_ the same.”

“You didn’t recognize me at the gate,” I accused.

She managed to blush, which on her was more a violet surge across grayish lavender skin, and altogether lovely.

“I did not. I was looking for the old clothes, and then I was checking all the servants. I knew Josephine had sent for uniforms to be made, but I somehow never thought to check for you among the healers. Dorian laughed at me for fifteen solid minutes when I asked where you were, and he pointed at your backside disappearing around the corner.”

I smiled at her. “I’m getting that a lot.”

“People not recognizing you, or being laughed at by Dorian?”

“Oh, both,” I laughed, and she grinned at me. “I still have an accent, though. Doesn’t that help?”

“A little,” she allowed.

I made her fill me in on everything that had happened to my patients on the road, and give me a quick lesson on healing potions and how often people could have them – which turned out to not be very often at all.

She pushed up from the bed – I immediately thought to strip and remake it, but we were unlikely to get any new patients for awhile, so it could wait – and stretched. “I need a bath. Did you wear a hole in my cask?”

“Did you one better,” I said. “Dorian and I have a hidden bathroom. We’ll take you there tomorrow, and the three of us will have naked time.”

I felt several pairs of eyes on me – Lyal and Devon were both awake, and one of the healers was scrubbing the floor – as Hellen froze mid-stretch. “What did you just say?”

“Oh, come on. I am _not_ Dorian’s type. Neither are you. We both lack the correct equipment, and I’m a married woman to boot. We have three casks set up – one for each of us – and we sit in soapy water and chat every morning.”

“That sounds _amazing_ ,” Lyal chimed in, wistfully.

I glanced around the room. “I should have a cask brought in. Once your leg closes a bit, a good soak would be good for you.”

The elf’s eyes got a little glassy, and she said something extensive in elven. I heard the words for gratitude amongst the lyrical syllables, and I smiled at her gently. “You are quite welcome.”

Hellen reached out with both hands to cup my cheeks. “I am glad to see you doing so well.”

“I am glad to see you home,” I answered, reaching up to press my hands against hers.

She leaned over, pressed a kiss to the top of my head, and then strode out of the room.

The healer scrubbing the floor – Jamy, she said when I asked her, apologetically, for her name – agreed to strip the bed Hellen had been laying on, as there was a definite imprint of road dust across the bedspread and clumps of mud on the pillow. Lyal slowly fell asleep, Jamy finished her work and left, and I tried to write a concise summary of the events of the day. It was a long time before I glanced up and realized Devon was sitting up in the bed, watching me.

I put my quill down and gave him my full attention.

“She told us, every night, that she was bringing us home to you,” he told me, in the relative silence of the room. Ricker was a incessant snorer, but the other three slept quietly. There was a distant sound of marching feet from the patrol on the wall, and the breeze brought the indistinct sounds of the courtyard up to us intermittently.

“To me, in particular?” I asked.

He nodded. “We’d heard stories, of you walking into the infirmary in Haven while everyone else was defending and evacuating, and saving everyone inside. My friend Gared got knocked on the back of the head, but you and some elf mage cleared him right up. He’s alive today, back in Redcliffe, working on the family farm because of you. We hoped… we all hoped. And then Benson died and we all..”

I nodded as he trailed off. “I remember Gared, if I never knew his name. I’m sorry Benson didn’t make it home.”

“He had a foot of gut hanging out, we were only surprised he lasted as long as he did. The Inquisitor was insistent that we would make it home, and he would survive, that you could save him. Everyone knows you’re some… offworlder, like the dwarf said, whatever that means. Someone said you came from the future, and you came back to help the Herald, because otherwise we cannot win.”

“You can win without me,” I reassured him with a smile. “I don’t know why I am here. Much like the Herald, I don’t remember my tumble through the portal. But my world is different from yours. I learned medicine in a much different way. But that doesn’t mean I could have saved Benson. I would have tried.”

“You’re going to save Lyal’s leg,” he said, tipping his head towards his sleeping companion. “She was making plans for how she would hunt if she survived, but you could see she was just putting on a brave face. The surgeon decided as soon as she saw Lyal that the leg was coming off, but not you.”

“That is also yet to be seen,” I warned him. “I am no mage, just a woman who went to school for a very long time to learn how to help people. We might yet see a one-legged Lyal hopping around here.”

“But even _then_ ,” he breathed. “Even then, she _would be_ hopping around. You’re not even considering her death as an option.”

He had a point. “It’s not an option. Not while I have others.”

“And if it was? If you could tell she wasn’t going to make it? How would she go?”

“I would…” I stopped, swallowed, and considered whether I really wanted to continue the thought. “I would talk to Solas, to Vivienne, to Adan. I would get something brewed that was so strong she would float away on a blissful cloud.”

Devon shook his head. “A merciful death is a dagger between the ribs, a quick exit. But you go further still. I’ve never met anyone like you. I understand why the Herald believes in you.”

“We would all do anything for her,” I told him, desperate to not usurp Hellen’s place in his heart. “You offer her your health, your wellbeing, your very life. I will honor that in the only way I know. I will save you if I can. And if I cannot… you will not suffer in the end, not if I can help it.”

He watched me with glassy eyes for a long moment. “She is truly Andraste’s Herald, if she can call people like you to her cause, from across the Fade in other worlds.”

I smiled at him. I stood from my desk and crossed the room, checking his bandages and helping him reposition himself for sleep. His wound felt warm – but not hot – beneath my hand and he didn’t flinch at my touch. I needed to ask Stitches what he had used as a poultice.

Once he assured me he was comfortable, I left Devon to rest and returned to my desk.

I made a rotation schedule for round-the-clock nurses – _healers_ , damnit – and made a list of things I wanted to inquire about for the infirmary. The healer I had sent to the undercroft checked in before dinner was served, and I sent him to kitchens for more broth and bread. When he returned, I helped everyone eat their evening meal and then left them in his care, leaving after learning that his name was Fitz.

I made a winding path through the keep, finding as many of the healers as I could and asking them to volunteer for a shift in the infirmary. I quickly had five days’ worth of schedule filled, and I made my way to the Herald’s Rest for my daily meeting with Dorian and Varric. I was told when I got there that Dorian was in the library, having given me up, and I found myself plodding up the long staircase to the main hall.

Dorian was deep in conversation with another mage when I arrived; he waved a greeting at me, and I sat wearily on his couch to wait for him to be done. Completely against my will, I was asleep within seconds.

 

*

 

I woke up with a gasp in the small hours of the morning, and passed a few terrible moments where I did not know where I was.

“Easy,” Dorian’s sleepy voice murmured through the darkness. “You’re in my room. I scooped you up and carried you here, rather than let you sleep in the library.”

I sat back with a sigh. The room was pitch black. “I need to check on Lyal and Devon. How do I get out of here?”

“Who?”

“The soldiers Hellen brought back today.”

“Oh. Door’s about five paces to your right.”

“Thanks, Dorian.”

“Anytime, darling.”

I shuffled out of the room – grateful I had been put to bed fully clothed, and didn’t have to fumble about for my boots – and made my way slowly to the infirmary.

There were six people sleeping within; Jamy had volunteered for the overnight shift when I told her she could sleep, as long as she was sure she would wake up if anyone needed her. True to her word, she snapped awake as soon as I lifted the latch. I waved her back to sleep with a smile, and she grinned and at me and laid back down.

I made a quick round, careful not to wake anyone up. Lyal stirred when I laid a hand to her bandages – a breath of a wince, and she caught my hand before I could snatch it away. He wound had been warm, but not hot, and she had no signs or symptoms of progressing infection. She drew my captured hand to mouth and pressed a kiss to my palm. “Ma’serannas, Gwen.”

“You are welcome, Lyal. Sleep.”

Devon did not stir when I laid a gentle hand to his wrapped chest – which was also showing signs of recovery – and the other three did not seem to notice my fingertips on their wrists, briefly checking the steadiness of their pulse and breaths.

Jamy snapped awake when I laid a hand to her forehead, but went still when I whispered to her that I was leaving, and would return in the morning. She nodded, and I encouraged her to go back to sleep – all was well.

I tried to slip soundlessly out the door, but Cullen was coming up the stairs and startled me so badly I squeaked. While he fought to control a laugh, I stuck my head back in the infirmary and listened to be sure no one had been woken up. I shut the door silently, and waved for a chortling Cullen to follow me away from my charges.

“Ass. It’s not funny.”

“Of course,” he agreed mildly, and I rolled my eyes.

“I’m sorry I missed you tonight,” I said, guessing at why he had come seeking me out. “I must have fallen asleep in the library, and Dorian carried me to his room to sleep. I woke up very confused, and with no grasp of time.”

“Your poor grasp of time is normal, at least,” he teased, and threaded my hand through his arm as if I was a noblewoman he was escorting. “But I did not come to find a cure, as I was relatively free of pain today.”

“Good,” I breathed. “I felt very guilty when I realized I had skipped out on you.”

Cullen tipped his head back the way we came, indicating the infirmary. “I knew you were otherwise occupied. I just worried you had thrown yourself too deeply into your work, and I came to make sure you remembered to care for yourself, as well as your new charges.”

I smiled and placed my other hand on his arm, squeezing the bit of his elbow that wasn’t armored, and as such was easy to find. “Thank you. Today was hard, but not overly so. I have slept, and I was just about to return to my rooms for the rest of the night.”

“I will see you there,” Cullen offered, although he left no room for argument.

We took a roundabout route there, winding around the battlements to pass through the corner tower – now a guard room – and then Cullen’s office, where we took a hard right to head across the bailey wall into the main hall. Solas was awake when we passed through his antechamber – he briefly inclined his head but otherwise made no notice of our passing. We passed quietly through the silent hall, soft-soled guards making a slow circuit between the main doors and the throne. Cullen nodded to one of them and got a swift salute in return.

He passed through the door that could ultimately lead to the war room, but turned quickly left and descended into the lower levels. Two sharp rights to angle back towards the kitchens, and then down another flight to the long hallway that dead-ended just past my room. The last lamp was some ten paces before my door, and Cullen scowled at the darkness.

“Are you sure you feel quite safe down here?”

I laughed as I tripped the latch and slid my hand out of the bend in his arm, taking a step into my room and turning around to let him see the total lack of concern on my face. “I feel safe in _Skyhold_ , Commander, in all of her many corners. I have total faith in your ability to keep it so.”

There was a small shift in his countenance then, and in the uncertain torchlight I wasn’t sure I had even seen it. I stepped into the room for my candle, meaning to take it down the hall to light on one of the torches, but he gently lifted it from my fingertips and walked swiftly away to complete the task himself. I held the door open, letting him come in and light the other candle in the room – I kept one lit in the washroom at night, knowing there was a vent there to help the water (and consequently air) flow, although both candleholders were currently sitting on my narrow slip of a desk – and then he quickly crossed back out of the room to stand in the doorway.

I laughed softly. “You can come in, Cullen, I do not bite.”

“Have you spoken with Dorian at all, about his ability to recreate the magic that brought you here?”

It was so completely unexpected that I gawked at him for several long seconds before managing to school my expression. “No. To be honest, I hadn’t thought to. Is it believed that he could send me home?”

Cullen shook his head. “It was discussed when Hellen first brought you to Haven, but I had not heard mention of it since then. I thought you would be the best to ask.”

I tried to puzzle out the expression on his face, but the faint lamplight from the hall antagonized the candlelight in the room, and hid his face in flickering shadow. “I had not asked him, but I will now that I know to. Thank you. What prompted you to ask?”

Cullen sighed. “I suppose it will do me no good to lie.”

“If you are comfortable with me knowing you have lied, it might. You are a terrible liar, though. I keep everyone’s secrets, Cullen, including your own. You can choose to tell me or not.”

He laughed, then; more an exhaled rush of breath than any real mirth, but the intention was there. “You have been here little more than two months, and yet already I cannot imagine how any of us would survive without you. It made me think of your husband; Patrick must be a good man to have you for his wife, and I cannot help but pity him your absence. Anyone who has become accustomed to you at their side would suffer greatly at the loss.”

I felt the compliment as keenly as I felt the reminder. “I fear he will not know me if I do come home. I am much changed. Not only in having learned a new language, but I fear sitting with him in our office and playing this _game_ will have lost all its… allure, I think the word is. I will insist on moving to the mountains, into a building with too many stairs and the constant smell of baking bread.”

He laughed for real then, which was my intention, and raised a hand in a brief gesture of farewell.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked, as almost an afterthought.

“I will not skip out on you again,” I replied and he left with a smile on his face.

I watched him walk down the hall and then listened to his footsteps disappear up the stairs before shutting my door and throwing the bolt. I pulled off the now-wrinkled healer’s tunic and laid down on my bed in the leather jerkin and pants. I fell asleep trying to puzzle out the hidden meaning I knew lay behind Cullen’s words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, Dagna.
> 
> In other news, I'm fighting exhaustion and didn't do a great job of proofing this chapter. Let me know if anything is abysmally unreadable.  
> My best friend's wedding is Saturday, and I'm her MOH. I work overtime this week and next week to make up for having the weekends off... I should come up for air the second or third week of October. I've gotten NO writing done, so these posts will have to slow down for a bit.


	11. Pt I Ch 11: Five Patients

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first half of what could have been a normal day for Gwen.

I awoke when the roar of the ovens above me raised the temperature in my room, and the banging of the kitchen staff alerted me to the time. I pulled out one of the dresses Josephine had given me – the brown one caught my fancy – and rolled it around a clean shift and the corresponding socks. I brushed my teeth in my little basin by the candlelight with a paste I made out of stolen baking soda from the kitchen and mint sprigs from the garden. I tucked my wide-toothed comb into the waistband of my pants and I took my bundle of clothes with me, blowing out the candles as I left. I avoided the main hall, conscious of how form-fitting my clothing was without the tunic to hide under. I had slimmed considerably, but there was nothing to be done for the width of my hips, and I had lost only a few inches off my bust. I had the sort of hourglass I had always wanted, but having a new appreciation for one’s figure was not the same as wanting to flaunt it around town.

I went up the stairs into the kitchen, and from there into the cold morning air of the courtyard. The sun was up – the sky was bright blue – but it would be some hours yet before it peeked over the lip of the mountains, and longer still before it was high enough to shine into the courtyard. The air was usually bitterly cold there in the mornings, but today was almost bearable. I started to believe summer might actually be on its way.

I snagged a sweet roll and some cheese from the kitchen on the way by, and jogged up the stairs to the corner where Dorian and I had installed our hidden bathroom.

I turned the corner on the battlements, and plowed headlong into Cullen.

“Excuse me, m’lady,” he said, catching me before I could tumble to the flagstones.

“For fuck’s sake, Cullen, we have to stop meeting like this.”

He appeared offended for half a heartbeat, until I straightened up and he realized it was me.

“Maker’s breath, Gwen, what are you wearing?”

I knew I flushed scarlet, but I sought to ignore the heat in my ears. “It’s what I was wearing yesterday, minus the healer’s tunic. Standard uniform. I’m headed up to the top floor in that tower, there. Dorian and I hid our bathing room in there, consider yourself warned.”

“That explains why I saw Dorian coming this way,” Cullen muttered.

“Oooh, that means my water might already be ready for me. See you later this evening, Cullen.”  
I darted around him and bee-lined for the door to the tower. I gave into the impulse to glance back as I tugged open the heavy door, and was rewarded with a glimpse of Cullen blushing and tearing his eyes away from my backside.

“He hated to see you go, but he _loved_ to watch you leave,” Dorian informed me from his post at the window.

“That is supremely unhelpful,” I told him as I reached the top of the staircase and let the trapdoor drop behind me.

“Oh come on, now. Surely you find the _Commander_ attractive?”

“It is nearly impossible not to find the Commander attractive,” I sighed. “I am a female with a pulse, after all.”

“As am I,” Hellen said from across the room, where she was filling up her cask with water from the cistern. “And yet the Commander is not to my taste.”

“No? Does he bear the wrong equipment to suit you?” Dorian pried.

Hellen shrugged. “I do not completely dislike men. But they are not my preference, no.”

“It should be said,” I changed the subject, not wanting to put Hellen on the spot, “that I told Cullen about our little hideaway up here. It would not do to have our morning routine ruined by an overzealous guard detail.”

“Nicely done,” Hellen lauded me.

Dorian dropped a strangely made rune into each of the three half-casks, and the water within immediately started bubbling.

“Is this going to scald me?” I asked, peering into my tub.

“No,” Hellen answered immediately. “Do you actually want the explanation, or should I just say _no_?”

“She wants the explanation,” Dorian answered for me. “The runes are paired, Gwennie love. The other rune in each pair is sitting on a shelf in my room. They transport air between them – handy if you have to be underwater for a length of time, or if your boat is sinking. The rune creates a bit of heat when it’s working, which is why I chose it.  A true fire rune would turn you into soup stock. These give you the added benefit of bubbles.”

“Everybody loves bubbles,” Hellen told me solemnly.

I nodded and then shrugged out of my jerkin and pants, stepping into the – damn near perfect – bath water. Dorian was following suit beside me. Hellen was staring at us both in shock.

“You really have been sitting around naked with each other every day.”

Dorian and I glanced at each other, surprised, before looking back at Hellen and nodding.

She shook her head and raised her hands to the buttons of her shirt. “I didn’t really believe it until I saw it.”

“What? Why is that so hard to believe?” Dorian inquired.

“Because you weren’t even speaking to each other when I left. The war room meeting today is so I can fill in the others about what I saw in the Ferelden. Tomorrow, though, we’re meeting to decide where I’m off to next; you’re required at that one, Gwen. But after seeing how much everything changed in the short time I was gone… I almost don’t want to leave.”

Dorian laughed. “Yes. Gwennie learned Common, although you must admit her accent is _darling_. We got her into some real clothes, and I got her _out_ of them. And the construction work around here is never ending. But if you’re really worried about leaving us alone together, you can always take me with you.”

“I will keep you in mind when my next trip is planned. For now…” She dropped her clothes into a pile on the floor and eased down into the cask. “Oh, this is amazing.”

“Epsom salt in the water,” I informed her, trying to make my voice sound sage. “I sprinkle it in the casks when they’re dry so I don’t forget to add it.”

“You two are fucking _geniuses_ ,” she groaned.

We soaked until I was a prune. Qunari have thicker skin and don’t have the same problem, I learned. Dorian insisted he hadn’t wrinkled, but he also insisted on not showing me his hands.

I slid into my clean shift and new dress, tugging up the warm woolen socks and having to loosen my boots to accommodate them. Dorian pulled the water out of my hair – bless him and his magical fingers – and I sat on the windowsill and pulled the comb through my freshly cleaned tresses.

“You need to leave it down, against that dress,” he advised.

“You think so?”

Hellen glanced up from her own row of buttons. “Maker’s breath, Gwen. You look amazing in that. Yes, definitely leave your hair down.”

I grinned at them both. “You make a girl feel good about herself.”

“You say that like it’s a new thing,” Hellen noted.

I could only shrug. “As I told Dorian. Women in my word are supposed to be tall, blond, and thin. I was always the exact opposite: stout, mousy, and brunette. I’ve lost a lot of weight here, but I can’t get taller and I looked stupid blond, so I can’t quite consider myself pretty.”

Hellen’s jaw dropped, but Dorian – who also didn’t fit the image he was expected to – took me by a hand and slowly twirled me around in a circle, making my dress swirl around my ankles and my hair follow in a wave. “You are an impossibility, here. You have all the benefits of nobility: flawless skin, perfect teeth, adequate nutrition. Your hair shimmers in a way only people who’ve never gone hungry can manage. To contrast that, you have the muscle tone and kindness and determination of the working class. You will never find another person on Thedas with _these curves_ and _those muscles_ and _that smile_. It just doesn’t happen. Whatever you were in your own world, you are the gold standard here.”

I threw my arms around his neck. “You are too kind.”

“I am too honest. Give me a hair flip? I earned it this time, I think.”

I laughed at him and turned, spinning back towards him and flipping my hair over my shoulder.

“Devastating,” he murmured, and kissed my cheek. “Now run off and save some lives today, yes? Go on, I’ll clean up.”

I did as I was told, waving goodbye to Hellen and making my way to the infirmary to check on my charges.

Devon was sitting at my desk when I entered the infirmary. Ricker, Viole, and Uther were sitting cross-legged on the floor with a deck of cards, playing a game involving half-a-dozen spoons and a great deal of cursing and laughter. Lyal was the only one still in bed, although she was sitting to one side, her good leg dangling off the edge.  My entrance was met with a sudden guilty silence.

The healer on duty that morning – a mousy ‘Marcher named Evan – burst out of the water closet, where he had been washing his hands, if the water dripping from his elbows was any indicator.

“I see everyone is feeling better today,” I said with a smile. I ruffled Uther’s short hair on my way to my desk. Devon moved to stand, and I waved him back down. “No, you’re fine. How did you sleep?”

Owlish looks greeted my question, and I laughed. “When did I say you had to stay in bed?”

“You didn’t,” Uther stammered. “But we thought… I mean, always before…”

I perched on the foot of the bed Hellen had been laying on the night before. “The best thing you can do is move. Do not over do it; do not push yourself too hard too soon. But I came up here to chase you all out of bed. Except you, Lyal – sitting up is about as much as you should attempt until we know what your leg is doing.”

“May I sit on the floor and join Ricker’s game?” Devon asked hopefully.

“Let me take a look at  you first,” I said, and slid back to the floor. He quickly stood, and I tipped my head to his chest and back to listen to his heart and lungs. His temperature seemed good, his pupils behaved correctly, and his bandages were cool and dry.

“I will unwrap your chest and check your wounds this afternoon,” I warned him. “But for now, you can join the others.”

With a muffled _whoop_ , the three soldiers on the floor welcomed Devon into their circle.

“Are you bored yet?” I asked Lyal, who smiled weakly at the question.

“Almost. Still tired, more than anything else.”

“Your body heals most when you are sleeping,” I counseled her as I sat at my desk and pulled my notes out of the careful stack of papers set to one side. There was a note clipped to my nurse’s notes from the day before with a bent piece of wire that looked so much like an American paperclip that I double-took. It served as a better signature than any letters could, but Dagna had affixed her name in a swirling style on the far right of the page.

_I have made more silver and salt solutions for you. I will bring them to you at noon today. I desire to see the effect your treatment had on the leg wound as compared to the treatment applied to the chest wound._

“Dagna wishes to see your dressing change this afternoon,” I told Lyal, gesturing with the note. “Is that acceptable to you?”

She gave me a quizzical look. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does. It is your right to deny anyone access to your body, be it with hands or just eyes.”

Lyal’s expression cleared, and she didn’t answer for a long time. “Would that you had been around when I was a child in the forest.”

I could not hold her gaze. “I hope you saw the death of the person who hurt you.”

Her eyes flashed. “I am Dalish.”

“So by that you mean, the individual was punished but the culture lives on?”

Her lips quirked into a bitter sort of smile. “How well you understand us.”

“How I wish I did not,” I answered. Lyal closed her eyes and eased back into her pillows.

I started my log entry for the day, knowing it would stay incomplete until Dagna arrived in a few hours with silver and saline.

I chatted with Evan about the events of the morning; which turned out to be largely uneventful, except for his ongoing attempt to keep his patients in bed. He eventually abandoned the fight. “I figured, if they were well enough to argue with me, they were well enough to play cards.”

“I would contend you were right,” I said with a smile, and a weight seemed lifted off his shoulders.

“Would you like to stay, or would you like to leave for the day?” I asked, giving him the option to escape.

He grinned at me. “I would like to see you change their dressings this afternoon. Would it  be too much if I join in the card game until then?”

I had to laugh. “Enjoy.”

With an even broader grin, Evan settled between Devon and Ricker, receiving pats on the shoulder and warm words of welcome. I suspected he argued with them that morning less to keep them in bed and more to keep himself from being tormented by being forced to watch and not participate.

“I am learning this language by reading,” I said to Lyal when I saw her eyes open and watching me. “I missed my lesson yesterday and would like to stay in the habit. Do you have any requests? And are you willing to suffer through my terrible accent butchering the language?”

She laughed. “I would be very happy to be read to, even by a butcher. The only book I know is a silly thing, something we got from a trader when I was a child. It was called _A Collection of Dreams_ , and was fanciful tales for children, wrapped around hidden warnings about the dangers of the Fade. My Keeper forbade it, as hateful shemlen nonsense, but we hid the book and memorized all the stories.”

“I will go see if it is in the library,” I told her, and with a word to Evan, left to find Dorian.

He, of course, was able to find the tome within seconds, and assured me I would learn absolutely no new vocabulary from it, but it would likely help my cultural awareness of the Fade. I thanked him and returned to the infirmary. Cullen was making his way to the war room as I passed back through the main hall, and he came to an abrupt halt as I called him a greeting on my way by. He raised his hand, but by the time he collected his thoughts to return my greeting, I was out the door.

The round of cards they had been starting when I’d left was only just finishing when I returned, book in hand. I sat on the bed closest to Lyal and settled in cross-legged with the book in my lap. Evan rose from the game and brought everyone mugs of cold water from the tap in the wash room. I took a sip – thanked him – and then started to read.

It was a children’s book, meant for the late stages of childhood when imaginations are still inspired, but there was much work to be done and less time for play. The stories were short, then, to be consumed individually, as time allowed, likely in the last rays of sunlight in the evening. In my own world we might have termed it _young adult_.

It was a blessing for me, as there were no words I did not know – as Dorian had said – and I was able to focus on actually _reading_ it aloud, on getting correct inflections and emphasizing punctuation the way it was meant. I was able to consider the stories as they were, rather than struggling with the language. I did not yet feel fluent – there was still far too much to learn – but for the first time I felt _comfortable_.

By the time I finished the first story, Uther had left the card game and sat beside Lyal on her bed. The game progressed without him, but I noticed it was markedly more reserved.

The end of the second story saw the end of the card game. Evan disappeared – I suspected he would return with lunch – while the three soldiers found seats on the beds near me. Devon pulled my desk chair around to the foot of the bed I had claimed and sat there quite contentedly.

Lyal fell soundly asleep during the third story, but a whispered question verified that the others wanted me to continue.

We made it through five stories before Dagna arrived with a pot of silver in her hands and another massive flask of saline strapped to her back. Evan was not far behind her, although he brought a thick noodle soup and brown bread for lunch.

“I thought it alright to progress them past broth and bland bread,” he apologized. “I should have asked first.”

“No, this was a good step. If Lyal would rather have broth, we can either strain her bowl or send back to the kitchen.”

Evan grinned again, and I wondered what exactly the leadership had been like before I was given control of the infirmary.

“Did I miss storytime?” Dagna asked. The question had a hard edge of cynicism to it, and I started to suspect she had been smoothed out in-game, and made more into the _kooky mad scientist_ than the _hard edge of reason_ that was probably easier for the American gamer populace to swallow.

Which begged the question… how did the game designers know _anything_ about this world, let alone so much as to make the errors so remarkable?

“I had a captive audience,” I smiled at her in response. “I need to continually improve my grasp of Common, and I have found reading aloud to be of double benefit. I’ve been reading the Chant as well as Varric’s novels, and both are giving me insight into your world, in addition to being language practice.”

The answer gave Dagna pause. “Is there anything you do without purpose?”

I couldn’t tell if it was meant sarcastically or not. “This morning, I selected this dress instead of the green one that sat next to it in my drawer, for absolutely no reason at all.”

Lyal snorted a laugh – informing me that she was now awake – and I flashed an impish grin at Dagna.

Surprisingly, she returned it.

Perhaps she was merely a tough nut to crack.

Devon wanted Lyal to go first, as he was far more concerned about his sister-in-arms than his own, comparatively minor, scratch. I paused before unwrapping Lyal’s leg.

“I apologize,” I told her earnestly. “I did not even make it back to my own rooms last night before falling asleep, and I have completely forgotten to see an alchemist about something for your pain. This is going to hurt.”

Lyal snorted again, an amused sound that seemed to pass as her laugh 90% of the time. “I feel so much improved over yesterday, I am sure I will not need it. If _you_ require it to continue, then by all means…”

I grinned at her. “I will trust you to know your limits,” I answered. “But I feel bad enough that I as soon as we are finished I will go in search of something to use in the future.”

I washed my hands before starting to unwrap Lyal’s leg, and Evan mutely followed suit. The outer wrappings were almost completely dry, but for the honey seeping through, which was to be expected. We washed off the honey with soap and water and I noticed the wound was already noticeably smaller. I carefully pulled the filler dressing out of its silver-soaked shell, and noticed there was very little drainage. What little I could see was the red-tinted clear fluid of healthy tissue, and not the opaque yellows of infection. The silver-soaked layers against her skin came off last, and the flesh beneath was finally visible.

She was healing. Not just healing, but days – if not weeks – ahead of what I expected. Evan let loose a low whistle, and Lyal’s head jerked up from where she had been pointedly looking away.

“Well?” she hissed.

I shook my head.”I cannot believe it. You are far exceeding my expectations, Lyal. Keep this up and you’ll be walking by week’s-end.”

Her face split open with a wide grin, and she craned her neck to see the gash on her leg. “Blessed Creators,” she breathed. “It does not look like the same wound.”

It did not make sense, but I was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Thedas was a different world than my own, and perhaps its people -  she was an _elf_ , after all – healed at a different rate than my own. There was literally no one I could talk to about it; anyone else would have taken Lyal’s leg off, and so the rate of healing from such a wound wasn’t likely to even be documented anywhere.

“I will replace the silver, to be safe, and the external wrappings. But already the skin is growing in, you see here? So bear with me, while I pack it with the silver-soaked linens, and then I will forgo the inner packing and the honey. I want you to wait until I have it stitched closed before you try walking on it. Do you understand?”

She nodded eagerly. “If it takes me a week to walk, that is _nothing_ compared to losing the leg. I will do whatever you say.”

“I told you, you might regret that,” I teased.

She did not find amusement in the joke, this time. “Not possible.”

Evan held Lyal’s leg up so I could wrap the entire thigh with clean linens. When we finished, I had him gather up the soiled dressings and take them to be washed. There was a cavernous wash room in the bowels of the keep, the only thing on the same level as the undercroft.

“Have them washed in soap and water, like everything else. But! They should be washed separately and then _boiled_ before dried and returned. If that is not possible, return them to me and I will come up with another means.”

Evan nodded and then hurried out the door.

Devon was already stripped to the waist and sitting eagerly on the side of his bed.

“Your turn?” I laughed. He merely nodded.

Devon’s dressings were not as dry as Lyal’s had been – whatever Stitches had pressed into his wound had been very wet going in, and drawn out a great deal of very thick secretions. Everything smelled healthy, however, and the drainage was clear. I caused him to wince as I cleaned out the poultice – it was mostly green, which I found promising, as I guessed it was largely elfroot, although I hadn’t yet seen the plant for myself – and I quickly switched to the steel syringe and salt water, to rinse everything away.

“I don’t think this will need stitches,” I told him. “The needle-and-thread kind, I mean, not the Charger kind. It is filling in nicely from underneath. Already the worst of the damage is covered. I will wrap it again, and I would like for you to spend one more night here-“

“Can you put the silver on it?” he interrupted, and I laughed.

“It is to avoid infection, which you do not seem to need. It is a precious resource, Devon-“

“There should be plenty for him to have a single application of it,” Dagna said, glancing into her pot. “We can always ask the Inquisitor to find us a new source, if you start to run low.”

I gave in with as much grace as I could muster. “Very well! In the future, though, it should be reserved for use in cases of known or suspected infection. Too much heavy metal is bad for the blood.”

Devon nodded, but did not bother to hide his grin as I laid a layer of silver-soaked linen into his wound before wrapping it in several layers of dry bandages.

“Alright, for the rest of you,” I said, indicating Ricker, Uther, and Viole. “I’m going to wash my hands, and then you’re going to make your case for whether I should release you from the infirmary.”

I had three beaming smiles directed at me before I could turn away and walk to the washroom, and they were standing evenly at attention with I returned. It was all for show – I was ready to let them go as it was – but they each performed the basic exercises they would have to do in morning drill, and showed they could finish without being short of breath. I gave them all permission to leave, but made them each promise to continue drinking plenty of water for the coming weeks, and to return to me the very _instant_ something felt even the slightest bit off.

“Might I go down to the tavern?” Devon asked, as the other three made for the exit.

“To what end?”

He did an admirable job controlling his blush, but I immediately understood his goal was _not_ to drink. “There’s this… well. This girl – this _woman_ – who was going to work there once it opened, but I was away, and I have since wondered. Well. I hoped I could go down and… well…”

“The only thing you are allowed to drink is coffee, tea, and water,” I warned. “I hear of one _drop_ of alcohol crossing your lips-“

“Yes, ser! Thank you, ser! I will never forget this, ser, I mean it, I-“

“Go!” I laughed. “Be back at twilight, so I can have a look at you before I go and see to my other patient.”

He darted for the door, the hand pressed tight to his bandages the only sign he had been seriously hurt.

“Your other patient?” Dagna asked from her seat behind my desk, where she had returned the chair.

“The Commander,” Lyal answered, surprising me. “It is his headaches, is it not? We had visitors, after you left last night, and again this morning. Other soldiers, come to check on us. Jamy chased them out before long, but they each said the same. You visit the Commander every evening, and he is better every day.”

I nodded. “I do help your Commander with his headaches,” I confirmed. “But that is not the business of his soldiers, I would think.”

Lyal grinned at me. “You would think.”

I sighed, and let it go. “Thank you, again, for your help, Dagna. I don’t know what I would have done were you not here.”

“I am beginning to think you would do just fine,” Dagna said with a ghost of a smirk. “You used far less of both solutions today…”

“If you have a means of sealing the containers they are in, I should be in good shape for tomorrow.”

“I can seal them both as they are,” she said, and quickly made good on the promise.

“Thank you,” I echoed.

She nodded. “I will wait until you have the infirmary to yourself, and then come pick your brain.”

“I can’t wait,” I replied, honestly.

With a grin, she was gone. Lyal was already asleep. I sat down to make some notes on my log, and waited for Evan’s afternoon replacement to arrive. It was Fitz, again, and he was very surprised to see the room emptied. I gave him instructions to strip and remake the beds the three discharged soldiers had slept on, and informed him to expect Devon back by sunset.

“And if he smells like alcohol, I need to be informed,” I stressed, although I sincerely doubted Devon would drink that day.

I found myself hesitating – none of the alchemists on my admittedly very short list were known to be great conversationalists. I mentally kicked myself into motion and went to find Solas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love chapters like this. It's so much simplicity: getting up, settling into a morning routine, going to work... but chapters like this (and Ch 13 in Higgins' Song) give me an opportunity to lay so much foundation.   
> Also, showdown with Solas incoming.


	12. Pt I Ch 12: Regarding Healers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In addition to a lengthy conversation with the Egg-God, herein you will find my head canon regarding spirit healers and more insight into Hellen Adaar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOW WITH ART

“I wondered when I would see you again,” Solas said by way of greeting when I stood, uncertainly, in the doorway to his antechamber and waited to be noticed.

 _This mother fucker will turn me to stone if I do this wrong_ , I thought with a shudder as I gathered my wits to speak.

“I saw no point coming to see you until I had the language skills to speak with you. I will admit to being afraid of this, and I put it off longer than I should. Now I have questions to ask an alchemist, and it must seem like I only came to you when I needed something. It is not true, but I know it is how it must seem.”

He regarded me over tented fingertips. “Come. Sit. Have some tea.”

“But you hate tea,” I answered without thinking.

He went still. Unnaturally still.

I crossed the room quickly and sat with a flustered sigh. “I’m sorry. I am still… awed, I think, is the word I want. I am awed to know you brushed honeyed tea over my mouth as I slept in Haven. And I know of no one else who would understand the honor.”

One eyebrow raised, an unconscious mimic of his tented fingertips. “You consider it an honor?”

I glanced meaningfully at the open ceiling above us. “I find just sitting with you an honor.”

His other eyebrow joined the first. “When you insisted you were not my enemy, I did not think you meant it like _this_.”

“I did not mean to…” I sighed. “I still do not have a wide enough vocabulary to say what I want to say.”

“Would you find it easier to speak in your native tongue?” he suggested.

“I would. But I mean to do that as little as I can. It limits what I may say, but it also forces me to learn.”

“Why not, for this conversation at least, you say what you mean, in whatever language necessary, and you concern yourself with furthering your education at a later time.”

I acquiesced with another sigh. “I did not mean to imply apathy,” I told him in English, still mindful of the open balcony of the library above us, and keeping the _Qunlat_ pitched low. “Quite the opposite. While it was more important in the moment for you to know I was not your enemy, in the long term it should be noted that I would prefer to be considered your friend.”

“If ever your Common catches up to your Qunlat,” Solas said conversationally, “you will be considered well-spoken indeed.”

“Thank you,” I answered in Common.

“As to your substance, rather than your form,” he continued in the same mild manner, “I could not believe you would have any reason to so immediately seek to avoid animosity upon awakening in Haven.”

“I have not ever known you to lie,” I said softly in English. “You will dissemble, and you will avoid, but you are not one to lie. So I think the operative word in your statement is _believe_. You could not _believe_ that I might actually know. Or perhaps instead the critical word is _could_ , as though the disbelief is in the past, and you are perhaps now more open to the idea?”

Solas’ expression was perfectly neutral as he made no attempt to answer.

“I know there are two people walking Thedas right now who once, impossibly long ago, bore names far more famous than the ones they currently claim,” I continued in English. “I suspect there are three – did Morrigan have the child?”

In a move that surprised me to my bones, Solas tipped his chin slightly up, as if to aim his words towards me, as he softly answered, “She did.”

“Well, then,” I said, leaning back in my chair, yet avoiding the use of Common. “The two of you, at least, I am quite confident could each reduce me to smoking pile of ash without breaking a sweat. The third might have some years yet before he could claim the same.”

Solas actually _laughed_.

Encouraged, I pushed on. “I am not a fool. I am not a mage. I am not a warrior. My defense in this world comes from the knowledge I brought with me, and the alliances I make. If Hellen turns me out, I will be dead in a blink of an eye, I am sure. If the Grey Wardens knew a quarter of what I had seen…” I trailed off, shaking my head.

“This, I did not consider,” Solas said, finally, leaning back in his chair. It was odd to shift my brain between the English I spoke and the Common he replied in. “You know, then, how more of them are made?”

“I saw the last Joining Duncan performed, in Ostagar. I know what it costs to slay an arch demon. And I know the very good reason Morrigan did not want that price paid. Arguably there are several good reasons, depending upon whose long game we’re playing.”

“And so what is it you want of me?” Solas asked mildly.

“More than anything else, I want for you to understand that I am trustworthy. Even were I not, I have precisely _nothing_ to gain from stupidly selling you out. I have literally everything to lose: my home, my future, my hopes, my life. I would much prefer to be able to consider you my ally, hopefully even my friend. I will not pretend to know your long game, nor would I dream of asking. But I do  _not_ want to get in your way. I will help you, for now, if I can.”

“And in return?”

“What?”

“What is it that you want in return? For my trust? Do not alliances benefit both parties?”

“Is my continued survival not enough?”

Solas snorted. “It was not at risk.”

“Says _you_ ,” I laughed, rolling my eyes. “It is good to hear you say as much, but I had no reason to believe that when I stood trembling on your doorstep.”

“I believe that if you were going to speak of this, it would have happened before now.”

I nodded.

“Very well, then. Our motives align.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, and he chuckled at my discomfiture. “What was it that brought you here to see me, today?”

“Before we address that, I need to bring you a warning. I have seen… a _friend_ of yours, a spirit of Wisdom, be drawn from the Fade by a trio of mages in the Exalted Plains and bound into a demon of Pride.”

Solas surged to his feet.

“I cannot tell you how, nor if there is anything you can do to prevent it. In my memory, you ask the Inquisitor for help, and she travels with you to attempt a rescue. It fails. If such a thing comes to pass, I do not want it to be because I withheld the information.”

Solas ran both hands over his scalp before dropping heavily back into his chair. “Thank you for this. You are right. I would have been… _enraged_ if I suspected you had kept this from me. I will attempt to warn my friend, but I do not know if this can be prevented. I will try. Was there something else, something _you_ needed?”

I switched back to Common, comfortable that _this_ conversation, at least, was within my limits.

“I have little knowledge of alchemy,” I told him. “The plants and medicines of my world are not at all the same as yours. Is it something I could learn?”

“It is absolutely something you could learn,” Solas responded, apparently pleasantly surprised by the idea. “Hellen’s creation of a garden in the inner courtyard is allowing for the cultivation of many therapeutic plants. The biggest hurdle is learning to identify them in the wild, but in labeled pots in the garden you should have no trouble.”

“That is very good to hear,” I said. “I have a few particular things to ask, also.”

“Go ahead.”

“How often may someone take a healing potion? Is there a limit? How much is too much? How much is too little? What can they be expected to do?”

As Solas explained to me the limitations of healing potions – which were completely outweighed by their benefits in battle, and rendered almost completely useless in the infirmary – I began to understand why so many people yet died in Thedas. The red potions existed primarily to restore blood lost, and promote clotting and healing. Minor injuries could be thus closed, and in the heat of battle they could keep warriors going past what should have been fatal wounds. Arterial injuries were rarely fatal if healing potions were available, as long as the blood was actually _lost_. Blood on the brain, or in the lungs, was not removed by healing potions, and in those cases they could do more harm than good.

“So the man with the head wound in Haven…?”

“The potion would have hurt him, if not killed him,” Solas answered. “Magic, however, could reduce the pressure, force the blood back to where it came from, drive down the swelling. Which I did – it is merely the manipulation of water.”

I nodded. “And setting bones?”

“Manipulation of water, again, but requiring an affinity for stone.”

It made sense. “How much can be healed?”

“Arguably, everything short of death. Complicated injuries, near-death injuries, complex chronic illnesses are all beyond the means of any mage in the Inquisition.”

“But not beyond the means of a spirit healer, like Wynne or Anders?”

“Or Solona Amell,” Solas agreed.

“So why doesn’t the Inquisition have any? Why do none travel with Hellen?”

Solas went still. “Do you not know?”

“I would not ask if I knew. I might ask silly questions to Hellen, to force her to make decisions, but I have no reason to do that with you.”

“We cannot have this discussion here,” Solas said, standing and hooking a hand through my elbow, pulling me to my feet and out of his antechamber, onto the bailey wall towards Cullen’s office.

“What? What is it about spirit healers that is so bad?”

“Not bad, as it were,” Solas said, releasing me and tugging his tunic straight. He gestured for us to walk towards Cullen’s office, and I matched my pace to his. “Only insensitive. Particularly with so many in position to overhear in the library.”

“Oh?”

“Spirit healers are widely considered the most dangerous of mages, because they are the most likely to attract the attention of spirits. Necromancers like Dorian are, ironically, almost completely free of possession, as spirits tend to either avoid them, or wait around them in the hope of being brought across the Veil, even if only temporarily. No one is free from powerful demons, like Envy or Pride, of course. But spirit healers have a strong connection to the Fade, nearly straddling the Veil for their power, and as such are highly desired as a bridge.”

“Which would be why both Wynne and Anders ended up vessels for spirits.”

“Indeed. But in addition to being in the most danger, spirit healers are also the most popular. Of all the mages, they are the ones most likely to be accepted – loved, even – by the populace they serve. They are the mages who save your children, your town, your soldiers, your sovereign. They are everything good in magic, and so often serve as rallying points.”

“Solona Amell.” I said. We stopped in the middle of the bridge and looked out over the courtyard.

“Correct, again. But the crux of our change of venue is that when the Templars broke with the Chantry and sought to purge the mages, they immediately annulled the Circles known for their spirit healers. Then they systematically targeted all spirit healers widely known in Southern Thedas.”

“What?” I gasped.

Solas nodded. “They are not only the least skilled in offensive magic – and thus the easiest to hunt and kill – they are also the easiest to claim had been possessed. Also, they were the most likely to find refuge in the communities, the ones most likely to be raised as a rallying point in the war.”

“My god,” I breathed.

When Solas didn’t answer, I glanced up to see him smirking down at me.

“It is a common phrase in my world!” I cried, defensively, and he started to laugh. “It’s not funny.”

“As you say,” he agreed mildly, and I did not believe him for a moment.

“So we have no spirit healers because there _are no_ spirit healers.”

Solas nodded, back on track. “There are two known to be alive. They have, understandably, gone into hiding.”

“Wynne died in the White Spire. Surely Anders survived Kirkwall, given Hawke’s leanings.”

“Correct on both accounts.”

“So that leaves… Solona herself?”

“And whatever healers might be among the Wardens, but they have all vanished as well. The Wardens are not known for their healers, either, preferring offensive mages. That Solona chose the route she did is partly a testament to Wynne’s influence. She is unrivaled among contemporary mages, however; the power she was capable of dwarfs even Garrett Hawke’s impressive talents.”

“One more question,” I said after a long moment of silence to consider all he had said.

“Only one?”

“For now.”

“Very well.”

“Is there anything alchemists can make that dulls pain?”

“Are you asking on behalf of the Commander?”

“No, I am asking on behalf of the infirmary.” I grunted and switched back to English. “My ministrations are bound to cause discomfort in the people I strive to help. Setting bones, changing dressings, god forbid I end up assisting with surgeries; I cannot ethically hurt the people I am supposed to help. It need not contain any properties beyond pain management.”

“Speaking to you is akin to talking to two different people simultaneously. Your Qunlat vocabulary is staggering, while your grasp of Common is barely more than average.”

“Yes, well,” I said in Common. “I have only been speaking it for two months now.”

“Rapidly approaching three,” he countered, and then led me back to his antechamber. “There is a draught I can make that will do nothing but numb the drinker. It is not often made, except by those who seek to abuse it, but I can see the therapeutic benefits. I will make a supply, unlabeled of course, and bring it to the infirmary when it is ready.”

“How long does it take to brew?”

“Some weeks, as different roots must steep separately before being combined and then distilled.”

“Very well. I would like to be a part of the process; the more I can do for myself the better off I am.”

“That is completely reasonable. I would not mind your assistance. While we are working together, I would like to work on improving your vocabulary, as well.”

I could not help the laugh that bubbled up. “Anything for a decent conversation, yes?”

Solas did not look up from the book he had flipped open, but his response was fervent: “Yes.”

 

*

 

 

I had dinner that night with Hellen. I wanted to see her as much as I could while she was in Skyhold, since I knew she would never be in the keep for long.

She had a table set in her tower-top apartment; she had gotten no peace when she tried to dine in the main hall the night before, and told Josephine she would sup alone in her rooms if she wasn’t required to be present to entertain any visiting dignitaries. She decided she would have somebody different join her every night, and I got the first invitation.

“I did everything I could, and still it was not enough,” she told me over the second glass of wine, as we settled on chaises on either side of the fire.

“What was not enough?”

“I could not save Benson. I have _magic_ , Gwen. I am not used to being denied things, not like that. Knowing there was a magical solution and not being able to perform it was… it was terrible. And then I had to watch him die.”

“Solas told me that there are no spirit healers anymore, that they were targeted first when the Circles fell. So it stands to reason _no one_ could have performed that solution. No one we have access to, at least.”

“I have never attempted to specialize,” Hellen told me with a sigh. “I have always sought to be a blank canvas, a generalist, so that any time my company needed a magical solution, I could research it and present it. But this…? This is incentive. I have never wanted knowledge so badly. I see what you do, see how incredible it is to _help people_ , and I understand why spirit healers were targeted. Solona Amell could cover every surface in a room with ice, freeze a hundred darkspawn but leave her allies intact, and then walk to the side of an injured man, save his life, and have him safely away before even one of the beasts broke free. It was impossible not to look up to her, as a young mage running from the Blight. Maybe that’s what the world needs. Maybe the mages running from the Circles, from the templar purge, need another spirit healer to look up to.”

“Wynne is dead. Anders is hiding – probably in the Marches – and Solona has gone underground. Who will teach you?”

“I will read,” she answered after a along moment. “I will try to contact Anders and Solona, and ask them for advice. I will try to find the Wardens, and see if there is a healer among them. Vivienne will know which Circle libraries may have survived, and whether any were known for their spirit healers. She will be pleased an apostate is showing interest in Circle knowledge, if nothing else.”

“I suspect Vivienne will also approve of your reasons, if you shared them with her.”

“Do you?”

“I do.”

Hellen emptied the bottle in my goblet – nearly causing it to overflow – after topping off her own. “So what now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I won’t ask you what I’m supposed to do next – that will come up in the council tomorrow – but I will ask what _you_ are going to do next. You’ve got a good grip on the language. You’ve got a job, a uniform, something to keep you busy. What will you do when the infirmary is empty?”

“Read,” I answered immediately. “I have an entire library to work through, a whole world’s worth of stories I’ve never read. My favorites don’t exist here, so I need new favorites. That will help me build my vocabulary, too. I need more words. Dagna and I need to start talking, because she can do the most with my memories of home. And…” I paused, unsure of how I wanted to continue.

“And?” Hellen prompted.

“I need to ask Dorian if he thinks there’s any way I can go home.”

“I can save you that conversation,” Hellen told me, her face falling. “I was so angry when we came back through the portal into our own time. The things I’d seen…”

“It is not easy to watch your friends die for you,” I offered when she seemed to struggle.

She nodded. “Because of course you know.”  
“Yes. I know.”  
She sighed. “I am a mage, I do not train for strength, but I am still a kossith. Enraged, I grabbed Alexius, and I… I…”

“I heard.”

“I ripped him in _half_ ,” she finished, vehemently, surprising me. I thought her hesitance was reticence, but rather it was remembered rage. Hellen felt no remorse at Alexius’ end. “In the middle of it, you come falling out of the air, Felix faints dead away, and Dorian completely loses his cool. _Alexius could have been rehabilitated_ , he said. As if what we had lived through was a pardonable offense. I asked him, when he had calmed, what spell Alexius had cast that had brought you here, and he told me it was another attempt to use the amulet to create a time portal – except for himself. There was no way to know exactly where in the spell he had been stopped, no way to know when and where he meant to go, and no way to find out because the energy of the interrupted spell vaporized the amulet.”

“Oh,” I breathed.

“The magic that brought you here seemed to have been completely accidental. If we were to _attempt_ to recreate it, the only way we would know how would be for Dorian to use the amulet we brought back from the future, make a guess as to where Alexius would have sent himself, and try to cast that spell. Then, at our best guess for the point in the spell he was interrupted, I would kill him. That’s the only way to recreate the conditions as we know them.”

“What?” I cried, standing up so fast I sloshed wine over my hand. “Did you _talk_ about this with him already?”

Hellen shrugged. “Of course. It was a purely theoretical discussion, and Dorian decided he didn’t really want to make the attempt. We would only have one try at it. It would make more sense to either keep you here, if you were useful, or simply kill you, if you were not.”

“Well, thank god I’m useful, then.” I managed.

Hellen laughed. “Andraste’s ass, Gwen, we’re not that cold. We wouldn’t kill Dorian just in a blind attempt to get rid of you, and we wouldn’t have killed you if you weren’t _useful._  But you are definitely stuck here, unless someone from your world comes looking.”

I shook my head. “My world has neither time travel nor magic, much less a combination of the two. No one is coming.”

“I’m sorry,” Hellen whispered.

“Me too,” I answered.

 

*

 

I finished the day – as I finished so many days – knocking on the door to Cullen’s office with a ball of ice in my hands.

Cullen looked _rough_. The oil lamp on his desk spluttered low, causing the shadows to jump wildly across his face, but they couldn’t hide the dark circles under his eyes or the haggard cast to his shoulders.

“I am _so_ glad to see you,” he breathed, somehow sinking even lower in his chair. The confession seemed unlike him; both the digital Cullen and the real one I had come to call a friend played their cards very close to their chest. A lie would be painted across his face, but emotions were very rarely verbalized.

“Bad day?” I asked, crossing the room to set the ice on the window casement behind him.

He dropped his forehead gingerly to the desktop. “You have no idea.”

“Did you want to tell me about it? Or did you want to be distracted?”

He paused. “Distracted would be better.”

I considered his words; he hadn’t said he didn’t want to tell me about it, just that being distracted was the _better_ option. I also realized I had probably spent too much time with Solas today, to be reading so much into a simple phrase. I set the thought aside.

“I let three of your soldiers go,” I said as I eased my iced thumbs into the tensed muscles at the base of his skull.

“Ricker, Uther, and Viole,” Cullen answered, and I could hear the smile in his voice as the tension seeped out of him.

“Did they report to you? Or did they go on a binge?”

“Neither. They ran to the encampment like they’d been launched out of a catapult, and told everyone they could of the miracle you’d worked on Lyal’s leg. Your fame grew exponentially today.”

I paused, and he lifted his head from the table, as if to turn. I pressed against his neck, holding him in place, and he immediately surrendered the attempt. “Stay down, I don’t want to bounce your head off the table.”

“Are you alright?”

“I am. I just… don’t want to distract from the real hero here. Hellen does not need competition for their hearts.”

He sighed, and the muscle at the base of his skull relaxed. I moved down his neck. “No worries there. Apparently, your existence proves that Hellen is the Herald of Andraste. You heard her call from another world, and travelled here to help in her cause.”

I snorted. “Whatever helps Hellen.”

“Will Lyal keep the leg?”

“I am… in my own language, I would say _cautiously optimistic_ ,” I said, using the English words.

“And what does that mean?”

“I want to say yes, but I will wait until I am sure.”

Cullen laughed, a bouncing sort of chuckle that made little sound, but was unmistakable with my fingers kneading the banded muscles at the base of his neck. “Which reminds me-“

“I did read today!” I quickly assured him as I guessed the direction his mind had turned. “I want to be able to say in your language all the things I can say in mine. That is my… my… priority?”

“Priority,” Cullen confirmed. “What did you read?”

“I asked Lyal for a request, and she only seemed to know one book. It was called _A Collection of Dreams_ , and Dorian helped me find it in the library.”

“An odd choice for a Dalish,” Cullen mused.

“She said her Keeper forbade it, but she and the other children kept it hidden.”

“Ah. That makes more sense. It is meant more for children in Circles, I believe.”

“Is there anything you haven’t read?” I asked him, laughing.

“I am sure there is, but I haven’t come across it.”

“And if you did, it would not stay unread for long,” I guessed.

Cullen laughed again. “That is not completely true. I have done very little reading from the sort of magical treatises Dagna writes or mages study from. But anything else I would readily devour.”

“Devour,” I repeated. “Does that mean also to eat, but with a sort of greedy tone to it?”

I could hear the smile in his voice. “It does. Is that a new word?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he answered, and then fell silent with a groan as I threaded my fingers into his hair and massaged his scalp.

“ _Why_ is that so different when you do it? I try it on myself and it never works half as well.”  
“I do not know,” I mused. “Maybe the surprise is part of it. You do not know where my fingers will go next-“ I dragged them to his crown and then swirled back down to the nape of his neck, to illustrate my point “-so you relax your mind as well as your muscles.”

“Mmm,” he agreed, and I smiled fondly at the top of his head. I ruffled his hair before pulling away.

“Good night, Cullen,” I told him from the door.

He looked up, face shadowed in the failing lamplight. “Good night, Gwen.”

Devon was waiting in the infirmary when I got there. “Did you want to smell my breath, ser?”

“No, I trust you wouldn’t offer if it would give you up.” He had already crawled into bed, and the way he pressed a pillow to his chest told me he’d overdone it. “Was it worth it?”

He nodded vehemently.

“Good. I’m glad. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

He was almost instantly asleep.

Lyal was deeply asleep, laying on her stomach, putting weight on the wound across the front of her leg. She must be either utterly exhausted or massively recovered to not be in agony, laying like that. I inched around to peer into her face, and her expression was purely peaceful as she slept, her breaths deep and slow.

Fitz was sitting at my desk, leaning over _A Collection of Dreams_ under the steady flame of a properly filled oil lamp. It brought to mind the sputtering light of Cullen’s office, and I wondered how much lamp oil the man used in a week. It gave meaning to the phrase _burning the midnight oil_. “Did you want to stay, or go?” I asked the healer.

“Stay,” he said, without looking up.

“Very well. I am retiring to my quarters. Jamy is coming in again tonight, and I don’t expect trouble from either of these two overnight, but just so long as _someone_ is here, it’s fine.”

He seemed to realize who I was, and his head jerked up from the book. “Yes, ser. Of course. Forgive me-“

“You’re fine,” I laughed. “I know the allure of a good book. But you did hear what I said.”

“Yes, ser. You are retiring to your quarters, Jamy is coming in, someone needs to be here, I heard you, ser.”

“Wonderful. See you tomorrow?”

“Yes, ser. Thank you, ser.”

As I slipped through the darkened halls to my bedroom, I reflected again on how _terrified_ of me the healers seemed to be. I wondered, neither for the first nor the last time, exactly what their leadership had been like, before I had arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS  
> GUYS  
> GUYS LOOK  
> EISEN MADE ME AN ART!


	13. Pt I Ch 13: The Sorrow of Necessity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Varric's bird finally comes in.

The next day started off almost exactly the same. Rather than run headlong into Cullen on the battlements, I saw him lurking at the top of the stairs and slowed my pace near the top. “I thought I said we needed to _stop_ meeting like this.”

“I am actually here to catch Dorian on his way by,” Cullen confessed.

“Need a chess match?” I asked, spinning around to walk backwards so I could face him as I continued toward the tower housing our bathroom.

His eyes widened briefly before his face broke into a grin. “Why do you bother to ask, when you know the answer?

“I only suspected,” I laughed, and spun back around to open the door to the tower and slide in. This time I did not risk a look back, not sure if I wanted to know whether I was being watched.

I was the first one there, and I set about sprinkling Epsom salt into the casks and then filling them with painfully cold water from the tapped cistern. I wondered how much water we were actually going through, and whether I should see about having some of the mages assigned to monitor the water levels in the cisterns.

Hellen arrived next, and retrieved the runes from where they were stashed, on a shelf so high as to be practically on the ceiling. I suspected only she and Bull would be able to reach them there unassisted. We dropped the runes into our own casks, and then I moved to the window to watch for Dorian.

He was having a chat with the Commander, and I told Hellen I would watch for when they finished, and drop the last rune into Dorian’s tub when he was on his way up. The runes had a limited life span, and we didn’t want to squander them. While I watched, Cullen grew slowly more flushed, until he reached back and roughly rubbed the back of his neck. He and Dorian both turned to look up at the window – at _me_ in the window – before Dorian turned back to Cullen and said something that turned the man _crimson_ before spinning on his heel and sauntering into the tower.

Cullen looked back up at the window, and I wasn’t sure whether or not he actually saw me there. Shaking his head, he turned and walked slowly back towards his office, and I left the window to put the rune in Dorian’s tub. Hellen and I were both up to our necks in water by the time Dorian made it to the room, and he merely waggled his eyebrows at me in response to our greetings.

“Are you quite done harassing our Commander?” Hellen asked.

“Oh, Hellen darling, I have not even begun,” Dorian answered as he lowered his muscular form into the water.

I rolled my eyes, but decided to stay out of it.

I stayed with Hellen when our baths were finished and the bathroom was cleaned and dried. We visited both our rooms, to drop off the clothes we had changed out of, before appearing together in the war room for the day’s council meeting.

“I owe you thanks,” Leliana said as we entered, foregoing a conventional greeting.

It took me a moment to realize she was talking to _me_.

“You’re… welcome?”

She shook her head, smiling faintly. “Your saving of Lyal’s leg has farther reaching implications than you might have imagined. Our troops are strengthened by the idea that gruesome wounds may be healed; injuries that, before you, would have been crippling if not fatal can be merely shrugged off… it is empowering to our forces in a way that cannot be measured. It is the epitome of morale boost.”

“I am not owed thanks for that,” I laughed. “That is merely an added bonus.”

Leliana shook her head. “You could have taken credit for it yourself. Instead, you told the soldiers that you did it to serve Hellen.”

Hellen shot me a look of mingled surprise and pleasure. “You did?”

I nodded. “I will not stop doing what I can to save people, but I _refuse_ to compete with you for the Inquisition’s heart. I told them that my work was my way of honoring their sacrifice to our cause, and that I would do anything I could to help you succeed.”

Josephine made a happy sound, and I realized the three of us were not alone. Cullen, Josephine, and Cassandra were standing on the other side of the room.

Leliana wasn’t just thanking me, she was thanking me _in front of witnesses_.

“The three soldiers you then released from the infirmary went to the encampment and passed the tale that you answered the Herald’s call from a different world, and that Hellen was able to draw allies from impossible distances to serve the Maker. Every action you take from this point on will serve only to promote Hellen in their eyes. And this before Dagna has an opportunity to provide you with advanced tools for your craft.”

Hellen jabbed a finger in my ribs. “You ass. I didn’t call you here.”

“No one need know that,” Josephine overruled.

“Just as no one need know you do not believe Andraste saved you in the Fade,” Cassandra added.

“Maker save me from the machinations of women,” Cullen sighed, but there was no malice in his tone.

“I want what you want, Leliana,” I reminded the Nightingale gently.

“I am beginning to believe you,” she answered in the same soft tone.

“Good. Everybody’s friends now. Moving on.” Hellen strode to the table. “Where am I going, Gwen?”

I could not resist the urge to walk to the table and look at how the tokens – various figures of porcelain, metal, and stone – were arrayed across the sprawling map. So much of it was as I had seen in the game, I could only shake my head in wonder. “What are your options?”

“We’re looking at Orlais,” Cullen told me, taking up a narrative on the civil war in the Dales and the beginnings of threatening information seeping in from the desert in the far west. “Ferelden is largely quieted, with Anora willingly deploying her troops to help maintain order in addition to supporting our actions in those regions.”

I identified many of the zones I knew to be important, and a few extras I had not expected to see. There was one glaring omission from the map, and it leapt to my lips before I could consider the wisdom of the question. Pointing towards where I believed Crestwood would be, I asked, “And what of Varric’s lead?”

“Varric has a lead?” Leliana asked.

“Oh, god fucking damn it,” I moaned in English, placing a hand across my eyes.

“Did you actually just let something slip?” Hellen cooed.

Before I could answer, there was a knock on the door.

The silence was oppressive as Cassandra strode to the door and tugged it open.

Varric was standing, a bit sheepishly, on the other side. Leliana sucked in a breath.

“I need to borrow her Inquisitorialness for a moment,” Varric said, conscious of all eyes on him.

In response, all those eyes swung to me.

“What? Did she just do it again?”

While Josephine – still staring at me slack-jawed – nodded dumbly, Hellen waved Varric in.

The dwarf shook his head. “No. I think it would be better if you, ah, took a walk with me.”

While Hellen blinked owlishly at him, I edged toward the door. “So,” I said. “Meeting adjourned? We’ll meet back up later, I’m sure.”

“Where are you going?” Leliana demanded.

“As far away from _this_ as I can manage,” I said, and fled.

I raced for Cullen’s office – since I knew he wouldn’t be there – and used it to access the top level of the battlements, where I hid against a corner of wall until I could see Varric leading Hellen to the far northwest corner of the keep. Again, the game was true to life. I was no rogue, and every guard on duty on the ramparts _definitely_ saw me, but I managed to get to where I wanted to be without Hellen or Varric noticing me.

The opportunity to _meet Hawke_ was one I just could not pass up.

I was leaning against a door, listening to him talk – his voice was _amazing_ , a gravelly rumble sifted through a perpetual smile – when the door suddenly sprang open.

“Hello,” a raven-haired Dalish said, and my heart jumped into my throat. “Should you be here?”

“M- M- Merrill?”

“How do you know my name?”

“What did you find, Daisy?” Varric asked, coming around the corner. He sighed when he saw me. “Of fucking _course_ it’s you. Come on, then, out with it.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off Merrill as Varric pulled me into the open air of the roof Hawke and Hellen were conversing on.

“Come on, ruin my day,” Varric said, resigned.

“Oh, its not that bad,” Hellen laughed.

Garrett Hawke, in all his black-armored, blood-streaked glory, was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Hellen.

Josephine had taught me a proper curtsey, and I dropped as low as I could, the hem of my dress forming a puddle on the flagstones beneath my feet.

“I just… I just _had_ to meet you while I had the chance,” I told him. “It is such an honor.”

Hawke sighed. “Another reader of your books, Varric?”

“I don’t know, actually. You read my books, Perky?”

“I’ve been trying to,” I admitted. “It’s a good way to build my vocabulary.”

“This is Gwen, sirrah Hawke,” Hellen told him. “She is our Seer.”

Hawke’s eyes narrowed. “I had heard a rumor that you had someone with you who claimed to know the future, but I didn’t believe Varric would fall in with a charlatan.”

I laughed. “It is unbelievable either way, as Varric would hate anyone who could see how his stories end.”

When Varric only grunted, Hawke’s eyes widened in surprise. “A valid point.”

“Varric’s book leaves out all the good stuff,” I confided in him. “Like whether Merrill ever got her eluvian working, or how you took it when you found out Isabela was to blame for the Arishok staying in Kirkwall for all those years. And where the fuck did she find the Tome of Koslun, anyways?”

As Hawke’s jaw dropped, Merrill’s eyes lit up. “What do you know of my eluvian?”

“I know very little of _your_ eluvian, but I know of eluvians in general.”

She danced a step towards me, but Hawke’s hand on her shoulder pulled her back. I had only just met the man, but I could tell the look on his face was _not_ friendly.

“It’s alright, Hawke, she’s on our side,” Varric said, putting a hand to his friend’s arm.

“She is the real thing,” Hellen added softly. “She knew precisely how I escaped from Corypheus the night Haven was lost.”

“And I know you _killed_ the bastard when you saw him,” I said, meeting Hawke’s eyes. I reached a hand out to clench Varric’s shoulder. “This is _not_ your fault.”

Varric’s breath went shaky, and the danger in Hawke’s face was ratcheted back. “How did he escape?”

“You are going to have to see that to believe it. But it is definitely linked to the Wardens disappearing.”

“Just like the Wardens locked him up and hid the key,” Hawke mused. “So we’re on the right track?”

I nodded. “You are definitely on the right track.”

“So I will accompany your scout to Crestwood and try to make contact with my Warden friend,” Hawke told Hellen.

I had to think for a moment about who it would be. “Is it Stroud? No, it must be Alistair, he’s a Warden in Ferelden. Right?” Hawke stopped talking and turned to stare at me. I plowed onward despite his silence. “Did you meet him through Anders? Or was he chilling in Kirkwall?”

“A little of both,” Merrill answered happily.

Hawke and Varric both swiveled to glare at her.

“What? It’s a bit like speaking to Asha’Bellanar. A much less terrifying Asha’Bellanar. Not that you’re not scary. Unless you don’t want to be, then no, not at all.”

“You’re adorable,” I smiled. “But I am _nothing_ like Asha’Bellanar.”

Hellen blinked, and I braced for impact. “You know. You know what she is, why she has her fingers in so many stories.”

I felt each muscle in my abdomen clench spasmodically in fear. This was not a conversation I could have.

I decided that was my best response. “I can not talk about this. Not with you. Not with anyone.”

Hellen took a step forward. “You _do_ know. How do you know? Who found out? Is it me? Please let it not be me.”

“Hellen,” I breathed, and her eyes widened at the tremor in my voice. “I do not know _one damn thing_ about Flemeth. I will throw myself off this fucking wall before I will say otherwise.”

The kossith wrapped her arms around me, walking me to the middle of the tower we stood upon. “Don’t _ever_ joke about that.”

“It was _not_ a joke. As far as anyone here is concerned, I don’t even know the _name_ Flemeth.”

“That, more than anything else, has me convinced,” Hawke admitted. “I met Flemeth once, and that is _definitely_ the fear I would feel if I thought I had knowledge she didn’t want me to have.”

“Twice,” I corrected him.

Merrill flashed him a look. “I don’t talk about the second time,” he told me, a bit coldly.

“Understood,” I answered.

Hellen loosened her hold on me as she flashed a look of curiosity at Hawke.

“Everyone gets their secrets, Hellen,” I reminded her. “Even me. Even Flemeth.” She released me with a nod.

I perched contentedly on the wall and listened to them all talk, then, and after a moment Merrill drifted over to sit beside me. Hellen and Garrett planned the best route to Crestwood, and discussed how they would find his contact – who was confirmed to, indeed, be Alistair. Hawke and Varric had a almost gleefully brutal sort of friendship, where absolutely everything was funny and nothing was off limits, particularly their own individual failings. Hellen spent almost as much time listening bemusedly to the two men ribbing each other as she did planning the expedition and mining Hawke for information.

As Hellen turned to leave, she seemed to remember me and reached out a hand towards me. “Back to the war room, Gwen?”

Merrill pushed off the wall at the same time as me, breaking in before I could make my polite farewells. “Is there anything about our future you can tell us?” Merrill asked hopefully.

Alistair and Hawke, arguing in the Fade about who would be left behind, surged into my vision, and I felt my eyes well with tears. “No,” I choked. “No, and I am sorry. I am so _fucking_ sorry.”

“Gwen?” Hellen reached for me and missed as I ducked beneath her hands and bolted for the door.

“Let her go,” Merrill said, detaining the Inquisitor and Hawke with outstretched hands.

“Maker’s breath,” Hawke’s voice was the last thing I heard before the door banged shut behind me, and I fled down the stairs as fast as my booted feet could carry me. I suddenly keenly missed my sneakers.

I heard my name called – multiple times in multiple voices – but I dashed blindly past. I wasn’t conscious of where my feet were taking me until I slammed open the door to Solas’ antechamber, to find him sitting sedately on his chaise with a book.

“Gwen?”

“Tell me how I’m supposed to do this,” I demanded in English. “Tell me how you can look a man in his eyes and _know_ you will see his death. How do you keep your sanity when constantly swirling around you are lives you can _clearly_ see ending?”

Solas laid his book aside and quickly crossed the room. I could barely make him out through the tears streaming down my face. He put his hands to my shoulders and squeezed, briefly.

“This is not a conversation we may have here,” he said, and vanished from my view briefly. A cloak was swirled around my shoulders and then he was leading me out of Skyhold. I paid no attention to where we went, content to lose myself in grief.

Some time later, his hands were on my shoulders again, and he pressed me down to sit on what felt like a fallen tree. I glanced around to see we were in a shallow cave of sorts, but it had been prepared long ago as a shelter. There was easily a cord of wood stacked against the back wall, covered in a thick layer of dust, but plainly dry and combustible. A ring of stones set at my feet was being filled with tinder as Solas worked quickly to light a fire. I was dimly aware of being almost violently cold, but still, somehow, I could not bring myself to care.

Either Alistair or Hawke was going to die.

Every time I had played through the game, I had set up my world to specifically prevent that from happening. I made Alistair king – against his wishes – _every time_ , if only to ensure he could not possibly be killed in the Fade. I had much less of an emotional attachment to Stroud, but even then… regardless of who the Warden was, someone was going to die.

Hellen would have to choose.

If I had been able to keep my composure, I could _maybe_ have lied, and after the fact said that things happened differently in my memory.

I rejected the idea as soon as it flitted through my panicked mind. Lying to Hellen was the coward’s solution, and it paid me no dividends. Either she would believe me – which would undermine my usefulness as a seer – or she would not, which would destroy the trust we had built.

And yet I could not tell her the truth, either.

“She will hate me,” I sniffled as the fire leapt to life in front of me, and I reached my hands towards the flames.

“I sincerely doubt that,” Solas countered.

“She will have to choose. Two men will stand before her, and she will choose which of them will be left behind to die. And I know… god help me, I know exactly how it happens.”

“Can you not prevent it?”

I shook my head. “She must go. She _must_. It is the only way she gets her memories back, the only way she finds out the truth.”

“Where does she go?”

I tore my eyes from the fire to meet his. The flickering shadows gave him a sinister cast. “I cannot tell you. I am sorry.”

“Very well,” he said slowly. “If you cannot tell me _where_ this comes to pass, and there are limitations to your knowledge of _when_ , could you perhaps tell me _how_?”

I shook my head.

“You know who these two men are? Since this only struck you today, I assume one of them is Varric’s visitor?”

It was no use to lie to Fen’Harel. I nodded miserably.

“And the other, then, is someone you value highly, else it would be less of a concern. An unpleasant person would make for an easy decision.”

“I would contend that no death is easy to command.”

“I would disagree. If it were either Corypheus or Hellen you had to choose between, I hold you would not hesitate.”

“Point made. The other person is _definitely_ not Corypheus.”

“Gwen, you spoke of the immediate future to save lives before. Why will you not do so now?”

“Will Hellen be as strong as she needs to be, if this death does not come to pass? If, by saving one man, she loses the smallest amount of resolve, will she ultimately fail? How much weaker must she be before she cannot hope to win? How many lives might be lost to save this one?”

Solas sat back. “That is impossible to know.”

“My point, then. I cannot risk it.” The tears gave in to frame-shaking sobs, and Solas sat down beside me to wrap his arms around me. I buried my head in his chest and wept, blindly watching my tears trace twisted trails across the jawbone he wore ‘round his neck. 


	14. Pt I Ch 14: Kubler-Ross

I awoke in my bed, deep in the bowels of Skyhold, with no idea what time it was or how I got there. I suspected I had cried myself to sleep in Solas’ cave, but I had gone so long without paying attention to my surroundings that the whole afternoon was fuzzy.

I sat up when I realized there was a candle lit at my desk, meaning to blow it out and go back to sleep. My first thought was that Solas must have lit it, so I would not wake up confused as I had in Dorian’s room.

That was proven false when I saw how very little it had burned, and realized that the man I suddenly noticed sitting at my desk must have lit it rather than wait in the darkness.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said, quickly standing up. “I did not mean to wake you.”

“No, I needed be woken,” I countered. “I did not see Lyal or Devon today, and I intended to release him this afternoon.”

“That is what prompted me to come looking for you,” Cullen said, though he yet inched toward the door. “I was amused when I did not see you this afternoon at the second meeting in the war room, until Hellen told us of your disappearance. I was surprised when you did not check in on me this evening, after promising so vehemently not to miss it again. I stopped to see if you had been held up in the infirmary, to find you had never _been_ there. I ran into Hellen as I left, and she had been searching for you since dusk. I don’t know why I thought to find you here, after Hellen said she had been here _twice_ , yet I am glad I did.”

“What time is it?” I asked, standing up as I ran my fingers through my hair to pull it out of my face. I realized – a bit belatedly – that I had been laid to bed in my shift, my dress folded neatly across the foot of my bed and my boots tucked into the corner of the room. Cullen’s slow escape made more sense.

“Nearly midnight,” he answered, studiously looking anywhere but at me.

“Give me a moment and then help me find my way to the infirmary?” I asked. “I am a bit disoriented yet.”

“Of course,” he agreed, stepping into the hall. I pulled the dress over my head and dug into my bottom drawer for my sneakers, not wanting to struggle with my boots.

I tucked the laces under the tongue rather than tie them, and popped into the hallway, half expecting Cullen to be long gone. I had asked him to help me, however, and it seemed he would not willingly deny me assistance if I asked. I tucked my hand through his elbow, and he walked me to the infirmary in silence. I did not know how to tell him what had happened, and he respected my privacy enough not to ask.

“Are you alright?” he asked when we neared the final staircase.

“No,” I answered honestly, and he faltered. “It is nothing that can be helped. Sometimes the things I know… they are too much to bear.”

“Something terrible is looming?” he asked, his voice even but a slight tremor in his arm giving the lie to his calm.

“Something terrible is always looming here,” I said with a sigh. “Look at the last fifty years and tell me that isn’t true. The Orlesian occupation, the death of the Rebel Queen, the disappearance of King Maric, the Blight, the Architect, the war, the Conclave, the Conductor…”

“The Conductor and The Architect?” Cullen asked.

“ _The Conductor_ is the Tevinter meaning of _Corypheus_ ,” I told him. “The Architect was a problem solved quietly in the years after the Blight.” At least, I thought he had been. But if Corypheus came back after being killed by Hawke, it was easy to believe the Architect was still wandering the Deep Roads beneath Ferelden.

Cullen caught my hand as I tried to pull away. “You didn’t actually answer the question,” he reminded me.

I shook my head. “It is nothing I can prepare you for. Not yet, at least. Hellen will come back from Crestwood long before you have anything to worry about.”

His exhale practically vibrated with concern.

“Come. Stay with me while I check on Lyal and Devon, and then I’ll find some ice for your head.” I twisted my hand in his, to tug him along behind me.

“I should leave you to your work-“

“It will look good for you, to have you chasing me from my bed to check on your soldiers,” I teased.

He shook his head. “I despair of actually disagreeing with you and coming away victorious,” he complained, but there was a smile in his voice.

I pushed open the door to the infirmary, pulling Cullen through with me, and my heart dropped into my stomach.

Lyal was lying in the exact same way she had been that morning: foot dangling off the bed the same, corner of the pillow folded under the same, one hand under the covers, the other curled upward. Devon was asleep in his bed, and Jamy sat at my desk, reading the same book I had read to Lyal the day before.

“Has she moved?” I asked Jamy as I dropped Cullen's hand and rushed across the room.

“No,” Jamy said, her face suddenly flooding with concern, as if only realizing it as I asked.

“Lyal?” I asked, standing by her head and brushing her hair out of her face. It was curling uncontrollably, damp with sweat. I pressed a hand to her forehead, but she didn’t seem feverish. “Lyal? Lyal, I need you to wake up.”

“Mmmm?” She asked, weakly rolling her head. “So tired.”

“Lyal? How does your leg feel?”

“Itches,” she mumbled. “Rolled on it so I wouldn’t scratch.”

Itching was a good sign. Maybe even a _great_ sign. I felt my fear take a step back. “I am so sorry it is so late. I need to look at your leg. Can you roll over?”

“Sure,” she said, her voice clearer. “I’m just _tired_ , is all.”

She flopped a bit as she rolled, but she managed it without help. I realized – dimly – that Cullen was now standing at my desk, and Devon had woken up and joined Jamy at Lyal’s bedside. I quickly unwrapped Lyal’s leg, handing the soiled wrappings to Jamy, and took the lamp that Cullen had lifted from my desk and held out to me. I turned, and tipped Lyal’s leg so that the wound was exposed to the light-

-and burst into tears, my hand pressed tight against my pounding heart.

“What? What?” Lyal asked, struggling against sleep in sudden fear.

“I don’t know how,” I managed between sobs. “I don’t _care_ how. But your leg… it…”

Lyal looked down and a grin split her face when she saw the gash had grown almost completely closed, the silver-soaked dressing now doing more harm than good as it kept the wound open. The relief I felt was almost unbearable, like there was nothing left holding me together.

“Devon, hold the lamp,” I managed once I had my voice under control. “Jamy, I need another fresh bandage. Just enough to go around the outside.” I handed the lamp to Devon and rushed to the washroom, splashing water on my face and scrubbing my hands. I emerged feeling much more awake and in control.

“I don’t do stitches,” I told her as I carefully drew the used dressing out of her wound, “and I _definitely_ wouldn’t attempt it in the dark. I going to re-wrap your leg for tonight, and we’ll look at it tomorrow in the daylight and make a decision about whether or not we stitch it closed.”

She agreed – thanking me profusely through tears of her own – and bent her knee a bit so Jamy and I could make quick work of rebandaging her thigh.

She was asleep almost immediately after we finished, and I pulled the sheet up to her chin and pressed a kiss to her forehead, not trusting my voice. When I turned, the oil lamp was back on the desk and Devon was eagerly stripping down to expose the bandage on his chest. Jamy had it halfway unwrapped before I could move around to where I could see. I realized I had my hands pressed to my throat as if trying to hold something in.

The last of the wrappings came free and the previously infected wound on Devon’s chest was revealed to be nothing more than a faint pink line barely a hairsbreadth wide.

It was too much; the proverbial last straw for what my psyche could hold up. The floor rushed up to meet me, and everything went dark.

I blinked a moment later to find myself held up from the floor by a bar of steel against my belly, folding me in half so my toes and knuckles both dragged lightly on the floor. I was moving, floating laterally and then vertically off the floor, spinning lightly against hands on my head and shoulder to rest in what felt suspiciously like one of the infirmary beds. My vision swam into focus and I realized the steel bar I had folded over was in fact Cullen’s bracer-wrapped forearm; the Commander was leaning over me with a worried expression on his face.

“Thank you,” I said when his eyes met mine. “I would not have liked another lump on my head.”

The worry faded, replaced by a relieved – if lopsided – smile. “I have not had to test my reflexes like that in some time. You’re lucky I still train with my Lieutenants.”

“I will send them a card,” I promised, and pushed myself slowly upright. I wobbled a bit, and Cullen’s hand shot out to steady me.

“Should you perhaps lay down a bit longer? It _is_ the middle of the night.”

“A fair point,” I granted. “But no. I will sit for a moment before I try to stand.”

“Are you alright?” Jamy asked from behind me. Devon’s worried frown surfaced beyond Cullen’s shoulder.

“Surprised,” I said, waving a hand. “I’d call it the shock of my life if I hadn’t once woken up in a cell to find out the only person who could understand me was the Iron Bull. I have no explanation for your recovery,” I aimed my voice at Devon. “Or Lyal’s, for that matter. It is unprecedented, even in my own lands. It is… I have no word for it other than shocking, sorry. My only thought is that since you have never been exposed to the care I have been trained to, you will respond to it faster than those who have.”

“Or your hands are touched by the Maker,” Devon said, with an air of _well, duh_.

I sighed as one of Cullen’s eyebrows rose gracefully. “I am only here at the behest of your Herald. Believe what you will.”

“Should I finish out the night here?” Devon asked, although the question was aimed at his Commander, and not the healer he no longer had a need for.

“Yes,” Cullen said, never taking his eyes from me. “Report to my office first thing in the morning, and we will get you reassigned to a company here. Unless you wish to return to the Hinterlands…?”

“No, ser, reassignment here would be best.” Devon quickly assured him.

“Very well, then. Get your rest, soldier.”

Devon gathered up his clothes and retreated to his bed to quickly dress and lay down. Jamy had edged around the bed to my shoulder, and was watching me with a look of concern.

“I am well, Jamy, thank you,” I asserted. “I had… I had a very bad day. I got some news I was not ready for. It is nothing that can be helped. I am exhausted and neglected to eat today. I’m likely dehydrated as well. What I need – as Lyal needs – is sleep.”

“Do you have a history of fainting?” Jamy asked as she pressed a cup of water into my hands. I couldn’t fault her for it – she was just doing her job.

“No,” I sighed, but I drank the water. “I received a head injury some two, three months ago; that might have some bearing.”

“And you had it treated?”

“Yes,” I stated, “by Solas.” I was very proud of how even I kept my voice: not a touch of exasperation or impatience.

“Oh,” she said, and stepped back. “You should… you should check in with him tomorrow, and tell him you fainted.”

At that I _did_ smile. “That is very good advice, Jamy. Thank you. I will do just that.”

She managed to give me a very firm nod before blushing and retreating to the far side of my desk.

“Come and get me if there are any concerns,” I told her as Cullen helped me ease off the bed. “Have Devon’s bed changed out once he leaves in the morning. I will come check on Lyal as soon as I am able.”

“Enough, Gwen,” Cullen chided as he took the empty water cup from me. “You need your rest as surely as Lyal and Devon do.”

I let him lead me from the infirmary, but I stumbled on the uneven flagstones and found myself swept into his arms.

“You damn fool woman,” he said, although with no malice in his tone. “You will not rest until you crack your head open.”

“You keep getting in my way,” I complained, trying to keep our conversation light. “How can I crack my head open if you keep catching me?”

His face was close to mine – _too_ close to mine – and even in the moonlight I could see the corner of his lip pull up into a lopsided smile. “I will protect you from yourself if I have to.”

“Cullen!” Hellen’s voice echoed across the courtyard, and I winced as a dozen guards turned towards us. “Did you find her?”

“He did,” I called softly as Hellen jogged to stand before us. “I stumbled coming out of the infirmary and now he does not trust me to find my way back to bed.”

“Trust you to be in the infirmary in the middle of the night,” she muttered. “I have been trying to find you for hours.”

“I’m sorry to have worried you. I had… I had to vent a very strong sadness. I do not have better words for it than that.”

“Gwen-“

“Gwen _did_ stumble in the infirmary,” Cullen cut in. “She needs rest. We have found her, Hellen, that needs to be enough for now.”

Hellen’s eyes shot daggers at Cullen, but he did not finch.

“Rest,” he reiterated. “Not a midnight chat in your rooms.”

Hellen sighed. “You’re right. I know. I just-“

“Tomorrow, Hellen.”

She nodded and turned on her heel, disappearing into the darkness.

“Am I missing something?” I asked, a bit rhetorically, as Cullen continued towards my room beneath the kitchens.

“I think most of us are,” he answered darkly.

It was clearly the most I was going to get out of him. Rather than argue, I rested my head against his shoulder and lost myself in the soft metallic sound of his armor in the darkness, his footsteps on the flagstones, and his breath rushing gently past my ear.

He stopped suddenly, and I realized I had fallen asleep again. “Sorry,” I murmured, looking around the darkness dumbly until I recognized the pattern of lamps on the walls that marked my hallway. I moved my legs, encouraging Cullen to set me down, and after a long hesitation he did. He left one arm wrapped around me as I found my center of gravity, and when I tripped the latch and stepped through the doorway, he stepped away to lean heavily against the wall.

“I never did find you a ball of ice,” I remembered. “I’m sorry.”

“Please stop apologizing,” he replied, in an aggravated tone at odds with his smile. “You have done _nothing_ wrong.”

“I feel like…” I sighed, and leaned against the doorframe, half-in and half-out of my room. “I feel like I continuously let _someone_ down. Sometimes it’s myself.”

He watched me from behind drowsy eyes. “I have yet to see you let _anyone_ down, not even yourself.”

The retort rose unbidden. “Tell that to Patrick,” I told him, dragging the knotted sinew out of my hair and running my fingers through it roughly.

Cullen reached up to still my hand. “You would be with him if you could. It is not _you_ who let Patrick down.”

I sighed. He was almost right.

“If you think about it,” he said, drawing his hand back and using it to lever himself away from the wall, “it is the rest of us who let Patrick down, as we needed you more than he did. I think it was our need that drew you here, more so than Hellen’s call.”

I could do nothing but watch him as he turned to leave; I had no way to process what he had said, much less reply.

“Good night, Gwen,” he said as he passed the limit of the torches and disappeared into the darkness.

“Good night, Cullen,” I called back.

 

*

 

I dreamed of Patrick, as I did most nights. Usually I relived mundane moments we had shared: our cruise to Alaska, our honeymoon in the Caribbean, our month backpacking across Europe. This night I created mental snapshots of particular moments, like when some two dozen Asian tourists started taking our picture when we kissed under the Brandenburg Gate at sunset, or the time our new puppy humped my leg and Patrick laughed so hard he choked on his breakfast and I had to give him the Heimlich through my embarrassed rage. The moments you say “we’ll laugh about this _later_ ” were the moments I was remembering now that he was gone.

Except he wasn’t gone. I stared at my ceiling as I slowly awoke to the sounds of the kitchen springing to life. He was right where he had always been. It was _me_ who was gone.

“The cities grow, the rivers flow, where you are I’ll never know, but I’m still here.” I quoted softly in English, hearing the words echo dully against the warm stone walls. I ran through the rest of the lyrics in my head and flinched, putting it out of my mind.

I found myself doing that a lot, this whole _putting it out of my mind_ , I reflected as I gathered together the clothes I meant to wear that day. The brown dress came out of rotation – although I was finding the clothes that didn’t come into contact with my skin never really got dirty, with as cold and dry as Skyhold was – and the green one replaced it. I would ask Dorian if he would magic my clothes clean, or if I needed to take them down to the laundry.

As I made my way up to the hidden bathroom, I forced myself to not just set Patrick out of my mind.

What, exactly, was it like for him right now?

I had no way of knowing. If he believed me missing, or endangered, he would be moving heaven and earth trying to find me. If he thought me dead…? Would he still be mourning, or would he be desperately trying to move on? There was a cute receptionist at the facility his parents lived at – his father in the dementia unit, his mother in the outpatient housing, where she could get rides to the hospital for her chemotherapy without Patrick or I taking off work – who would surely take pity on him once word spread that he was widower. God forbid somebody pointed the finger at him, as a war vet diagnosed with PTSD, and he was under suspicion of some foul play.

There were countless directions his life could have flowed in the soon-to-be three months since I left. There seemed to only be two constants: I was not there, and there was no way I could help.

It was more than a little irritating that I still didn’t know how – or _why_ – I had come to be _here_ and not _there_. I had given up on the hope of discovering how the two worlds were connected; they must be, somehow, and that had to be good enough for me. But _why me_ just wouldn’t fade from my subconscious.

Was I stolen? Was it some colossal accident? Did I come of my own volition? And if I _did_ , did I leave word for Patrick? A note for my family? Who could have talked me into it, and what possible reason could they have given?

I still couldn’t even place where I’d been, to be dressed like I was in July. It was almost like I’d just stepped out of a shower and thrown on the first thing I found… an idea that swirled comfortably around my mind, as if my subconscious recognized it as the truth.

Or maybe it just made the most sense, in a series of scenarios that were all utter gibberish.

I was the last one to the bathroom that morning, lost in thought as I was. Dorian was waiting by the window with an outraged look on his face.

“Yes?” I asked, raising an eyebrow and waiting for whatever outburst was brewing.

“You just walked right by the Commander like he wasn’t there!”

I glanced out the window and saw Cullen striding stiffly away. I sighed. “I will apologize to him later.”

“Where did you go yesterday?” Hellen asked at the same time Dorian demanded, “What could possibly distract you _that much_?”

I gestured at my tub – bubbling invitingly across the room – and plodded over to it and began stripping without answering either of their questions. I lowered myself into the water as Dorian hurried to catch up; Hellen was already laid back and soaking.

“How much control do I have over the future?” I asked, rhetorically, in English. I gestured at Hellen to translate for Dorian; I had no desire to fight for words this morning. “Does anything that I’ve seen really matter? How do I decide what is critically important, and what can be allowed to drift by? What is the threshold for saving a life? How much is _one man_ worth? Is a King worth more than a farmer?  You sacrifice a soldier to save a king, but a hundred? A thousand? How do you even begin to make those choices?”

I paused and gave Hellen time to catch up. I paid attention to what she said, seeking to learn the words and phrases I hadn’t known. “Why am I here? Not in the grand scheme of things, but _right here, right now_. Why am I here, and not home? What brought me here? If it was some cosmic accident, what are the fucking odds that _I_ would come _here_ , and not somebody else, somewhere else? If I was stolen, by who? Why? If I was talked into it… again, who could have convinced me? What words, what coercion could they possibly have applied to make me walk away from my husband?”

I took a deep breath. “Why. The. Fuck. Would. I. Walk. Away. From. My. Husband.” I emphasized each word with a light punch to the side of my tub.

“Ooh, here it comes,” Dorian breathed, settling back into his tub. “Let it out, Gwennie love, this has been silently killing you.”

“Did I tell him? Did I leave him? Was he there, did he encourage me to go? Am I here on some completely different mission, that I have somehow, horribly, forgotten? Am I here for magic? A cure? Again, why _me_? Why _here_?”

I lifted my hands to wind my fingers through the wet tendrils of my hair, tugging lightly as I fought for words in even my native tongue. “Why was I _dressed_ like that? And _why the fuck can’t I remember_? Why send me here, bring me here, _whatever_ , and strip from me the memories of why I came? I’m not from the Fade, we don’t _have_ a Fade in my world. _Why doesn’t fucking anything make sense_?”

I took a few deep breaths, but the next words sprang past my teeth before even registering on my consciousness. “Why is it so easy for me to go _days_ without thinking of Patrick? Why is it easier when I don’t think about him at all? It’s been him and me for _ten years_ , us against the world! One of us goes on a trip without the other and we count the days until we’re together again. What is it that keeps pushing him out of my mind? Why does my wedding ring _burn_?”

“It burns?” Dorian asked when Hellen had caught up. I was weeping silently into my bath water.

“Not physically,” I said, roughly rinsing the salt off my face. “I look at it and it _hurts_. Wearing it makes my heart ache, and I don’t understand why. I _love_ my wedding ring.”

“It’s lovely,” Hellen told me gently.  

“I don’t understand,” I said at last, switching back into Common.

“I know what it is like to be missing memories,” Hellen softly commiserated with me. “I know the fear, the doubt, the questions.”

“You will get your memories back,” I told her, summoning up a weak smile. “I only wish somebody could tell me the same, with the same level of surety.”

“I wish you could receive the same peace you bestow on me, with your gentle confidence. It is Maker-sent.”

“It is _something_ sent,” I agreed with her, a bit bitterly.

We were all quiet for a moment before I drummed up the courage to ask Dorian the question I had posed Hellen only two days before. “Dorian? What are the chances of me ever going home?”

He did me the justice of brutal honesty: “Realistically? Zero.”

I did not bother to check the tears streaming down my face as he calmly explained exactly what it would take to open another portal to my world. “Replicating a spell that does what it is supposed to is relatively simple and straight forward. Replicating a spell that gets misdirected or interrupted is effectively impossible. It is hitting a passing bumblebee with a rock at 30 paces, when you were aiming the opposite direction. You can’t say it’s never going to happen again, but _it’s never going to happen again_. In your case… I would need to know _exactly_ where and when Alexius’ intended portal was supposed to open. I am fairly confident he was aiming for _anywhen but now_ , where it intersects with _anywhere but here_. And then we would have to put the exact same amount of energy into it, and interrupt it at the exact same moment. Ideally, you would interrupt it in the exact same way. Throwing the rock badly because you sneezed and throwing the rock badly because you got gored by a bull will likely cause vastly different results.”

“And I would not sell your life to get me home,” I finished for him. “ _Especially_ with such low odds of success.”

“I appreciate that,” he said bitterly. “Sentiments like that remind me of just how far from _my_  home I am.”

“But all of that assumes you were brought through the portal on accident,” Hellen picked up where Dorian trailed off. “That you are here by _accident_ seems highly unlikely, given you know so much about our world. It seems far more likely you were _sent_ , somehow… and no amount of magic will replicate that portal unless the person who sent you here decides to send you home.”

“So if I were to figure out how I got here, and _maybe_ there was someone else involved, and _maybe_ I could convince them to send me home…?”

“That seems like your only shot,” Dorian admitted.

I sank backwards into the tub in resignation. “And even if I do get home, I will not be the same.”

“You’re already wildly different from the woman I first met,” Hellen agreed.

“Well, fuck,” I sighed. “I guess I’m stuck here.”

Saying it, out loud, to witnesses, had a strangely freeing effect. I wasn’t happy about it – I wouldn’t even call it _content_ – but the idea that _this is my home now_ settled into my bones.

“I’m not ready to give up on Patrick, yet,” I said, seeing my gold band distorted by the bubbling water.

“No one would ask you to,” Hellen replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the tourists-snapping-photos and the puppy-humping-leg stories at the beginning are both based on real life events. Unfortunately recent real life events.


	15. Pt I Ch 15: Wounds Heal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More information about Lyal, and conversations with two of your favorites.
> 
> Subtitled: "Totally Worth Rabbit Pee."  
> (blame doodles)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Returning to nighttime posts because I made somebody cry at work. Sorry!

I went straight to the infirmary after cleaning up the bathroom, to find Devon long gone and Lyal sitting up anxiously in her bed.

“You’re here!” she called. “Quick, take this off.”

“It hasn’t been on that long,” I reminded her as I crossed the room to lay my bundle of clothes on the corner of my desk.

“I need to know it wasn’t a dream,” she whispered, and I heard the desperation in her voice.

“You and me both,” I laughed, walking over to her and gesturing for her to lie down. She immediately rolled onto her back and bent her knee to give me access to the bandage on her leg.

“Where is Jamy?” I asked, glancing around the room.

“We finished the book, and she took it to the library to return it.”

“Oh? You’ve been awake that long?”

“I woke up a few hours after you left, long before dawn, and haven’t been able to get back to sleep.”

“Do you feel tired at all?”

“Anxious,” she asserted. “I’ve slept too long.”

I quickly unwound the bandage and set it aside.

The wound was a long puckered scar down her leg.

It had sealed itself without stitches.

I sat down heavily on the bed beside Lyal. “Do you naturally heal faster than humans?”

She shot me an amused look. “Not particularly.”

“Huh,” I muttered, at a loss to explain the near-miraculous recovery. “Well. You want to try to put weight on it?”

“Really?” she asked. “Already?”

I shrugged. ”It’s sealed. If it’s going to come open I’d rather it be where I can see it.”

I slid off the bed and turned to face her, putting my hands out, palms up. She reached out and clasped my wrists and put her weight on my arms as she put first one foot and then the other on the floor. When she was standing evenly, I leaned back a bit to assess her scar. It didn’t seem to be stretching or pulling. I stepped away from her and put gentle pressure on her wrists, drawing her with me. I walked backwards across the room, keeping an eye on the scar on her leg as she kept pace.

“It seems good,” I said, glancing up at her face. It was split with a broad grin, and tears were streaming down her cheeks.

I stopped moving. “Does it hurt? Should we stop?”

“Stop?” she laughed. ”We should _dance_.”

“No!”I protested, catching her mood and joining her laugh. “No dancing!”

I let go of her wrists and moved to stand behind her, my hands hovering just to either side of her waist, to catch her before she could fall. She walked back to her bed and climbed up under her own power, although she was winded by the time we stopped.

“Alright. Take a break, give me a minute to get my head on straight, and we’ll talk about where we go from here.”

She laid back with another disbelieving laugh, and I sat at my desk and recorded the events of the night before, leading up to her walking across the infirmary.

“You’re going to need to take it easy for the time being, since you’ve been in bed for so long,” I told her, and she nodded, hanging on my every word. I could probably tell her to take a long walk off a short pier and she’d do it, at this point. “If you’re in the infirmary, we can watch you and make sure you don’t overdo it… but you don’t _need_ to be here. I am willing to release you _if_ you agree to check in with me once a day, you go on light duty, and you agree to use crutches, to gradually return strength to your leg instead of trying to work it all at once.”

“You’ll let me go?” she breathed.

I shrugged. “If you want to go, I won’t stop you. If the beds are better in here, by all means stay.”

“I… I’ll stay, for now,” she said haltingly. “I’m exhausted after just that bit of walking. But I’m free to move around the keep?”

I nodded. “If you fall and hurt yourself, or wear yourself out and can’t get back, I’ll have you brought back here and babysat.”

She seemed like she didn’t believe what I was saying. “That’s it?”

I shrugged. “You are a grown woman, Lyal, and a trained survivalist. You know your body better than anyone else. I will make recommendations, but you know your limitations. You’re already winded, so you decided to stay close. Already you’re making sound decisions. If you want to move around the room, I see no reason why you can’t. You are ultimately responsible for your health.”

“I heard a surgeon once yell at a man whose leg had just been cut off, for trying to sit up and look out the window at dawn. Tthe man knew it was his last sunrise. I expected you to tell me you didn’t go through all the effort of saving me to have me throw it away.”

I sat down on the bed beside hers to match our heights. “You are a soldier, Lyal. It is always possible that I will go through all the effort of saving you to have you die in the next battle. That should not change my actions in the moment. My work of helping you does not put some lien on your life… it is still your own, to do with as you will. If you choose to take this leg I saved, and use it to jump off the battlements, that does not make the saving of your leg any less important in the moment. You still have the _choice_ to do with your life what you will.”

“You are not like any healer I have ever known,” she said in an awestruck voice. “You sound almost like my Keeper.”

“That may be the highest compliment I have ever been paid. Thank you.”

She shook her head. “I compare you, a shemlen, to my Keeper… and you _thank me_. This is unbelievable.”

I grinned at her. “Unless you hated your Keeper, I stand by my answer.”

She laughed, then, a full-throated sound completely at odds with the single snorts of amusement she had restricted herself to before. “Tell me what to do, Gwen, and I will follow your instructions to the letter. You have not led me wrong yet.”

I left written instructions for both her and Jamy, who returned just as I was finally leaving. I stopped and explained everything that had happened, as well as Lyal’s ability to decide for herself what her limits were.

With another heartfelt thanks, I broke away from Lyal and left to find the Commander.

“You’re early,” he said, surprise evident in his voice when I shouldered through the door. He was blessedly alone.

“Or very late,” I remarked, and he waved the comment off.

“I was in no particular discomfort yesterday. I was more concerned about your disappearance.” He was very obviously busy, and continued to work through a pile of ledgers after waving for me to come in.  
“Is it alright for me to not talk about what happened yesterday?”

He nodded, and gestured towards the chair that generally sat empty across his desk from him. “You can tell me whatever you like, or nothing at all. You owe me nothing.”

“Thank you,” I said, lowering myself into the chair and finding it surprisingly comfortable. “Then let me say I am sorry.”

“For?” he asked, lifting an eye from his work for only a moment.

“Somehow ignoring you this morning. I was…” I sighed. “I do not know the word, but I was thinking very hard about something else, and became blind to my surroundings. Dorian told me I had walked right past you, and I could hardly believe it. I would not ever want to make you think… you must know you are important to me.”

Cullen slowly set his quill down, though he did not look up. “Did Dorian tell you to come apologize? Because it was unnecessary.”

“No. We spoke of you only long enough for Dorian to tell me I had ignored you. Dorian and Hellen helped me deal with the thing that had me… that word I just told you I did not know.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lip, and he taught me the Common word for _preoccupied_.

“May I ask what weighed so heavily on your mind? Or was that linked to whatever upset you yesterday?”

“I swear to you, I am not usually this emotional,” I told him, and it brought out enough mirth that he pushed his stack of ledgers out of his line of sight, although still he did meet my eyes. “It was not because of what happened yesterday, not really.”

I drew a deep breath and plunged on despite my conviction that this was the _wrong thing to tell Cullen_. “Hellen told me, and Dorian confirmed for me this morning, that they have no means of sending me home. I am trapped here, indefinitely.”

Cullen sucked in a short breath through his teeth, and clenched his eyes shut tight. It almost looked like he was in pain.

“I am upset… because I still have no memory of how I came to be here. I do not know what condition I left my home in, my family, my husband. I do not know if Patrick suffers in my absence. It is… difficult. I spoke of it to Hellen in my own language, so I could be sure to use strong enough words. I do not yet know enough Common to tell you how it makes me feel.”

“I can only imagine,” Cullen replied. “And as much I would wish for you to go home, if only because you wish it, I cannot tell you how much of a relief it is to know you will be settling here, rather than continuously looking for a means to escape. I hope this means you are able to find some measure of happiness.”

“You mean to say,” I said gently, “You are very happy that I will not be leaving.”

Cullen finally lifted his eyes from his desktop. They were _intense_ in a way I had never seen. “Yes,” he agreed shortly.

We only matched gazes for a moment before he dragged the stack of ledgers back to the front of his desk and reached for his quill.

“I have some questions I need to pose to Solas,” I told him, standing from his chair to move to the door. Something had just transpired that I was not equipped to handle; my mind shied away from even considering the implications of Cullen’s succinct confirmation.

That one word carried far too much weight.

“Gwen,” he said, rising quickly from his chair. “Forgive me, I am not-“

“There is nothing to forgive,” I told him without turning around or slowing my exit. I shut the door behind me and _ran_ to Solas’ antechamber.

“Can I borrow you?” I asked the ancient elf. He looked up from his book, surprised.

“Define _borrow_.”

“I would like to interrupt what it is you are doing, and have you join me for purposes only my own. I had something happen that I cannot explain, and it would be easier to show you than to attempt to describe it.”  
“Very well, then, consider me borrowed.”

I led him to the infirmary, taking the long way around to avoid going through Cullen’s office again.

Lyal was standing at the side of her bed, leaning her weight on the mattress with both hands, standing on her good leg and doing slow stretches with the newly unbandaged left. Fitz was sitting at the desk, having apparently relieved Jamy, and wore a look of obvious concern on his face as he watched the sole inhabitant of the infirmary.

“Thank the Maker,” he said upon seeing me. “I wasn’t expecting you for hours yet. You have to put a stop to this. I have told her repeatedly to go back to bed.”

Lyal glanced over her shoulder, saw that it was me – and _Solas_ – entering the room, and grinned broadly. “What he said,” she confirmed with a jerk of her chin to indicate the overzealous healer.

I crossed the room to the desk and saw that my orders were yet sitting on the surface. I slid them across the expanse of wood with my fingertip. “And this?”

He seemed confused by the question. “The penmanship is so bad, I was sure the elf wrote it. It looks nothing like your log notes; I checked. You didn’t come in at all yesterday, so likely the elf thought you would be absent again today and her deception would stand.”

“Wow,” I said softly. I turned to Solas. “I am very sorry. This is not what I brought you to see. Will you excuse me for a moment, so I can handle this?”

His eyes were cold, but he gave me a short nod and took a step to the side. Away, I noted, from Lyal.

I swiveled back to Fitz. “First, the penmanship is bad because I only learned to write in your language a few weeks ago. It would do no good to write orders in the style of my log, as none of you would be able to read them. What should I have done to make my wishes better known? Would you rather I be present for each shift change, so I can _personally_ tell you what should be done?”

His jaw went slack.

“And did you forget her name in two days? She is not _the elf_ , she is _Lyal_ and her race has no bearing on the way she is to be treated in my infirmary. If that is going to be hard for you, then you are quite welcome to leave.”

“I… I…”

“You have control over your actions. You may choose how to act, just as Lyal may choose how to act. You are an adult, and you are responsible for what you say and do. Here is  your choice: apologize to Lyal, or walk out the door.”

“You cannot expect me-“ he burst out, but I interrupted him.

“I can, and I do,” I said as smoothly as my accent would allow. “I see you looked at my log before deciding the note was not from me, and so I give you the benefit of the doubt. That is why I allow you to apologize, rather than throw you out myself.”

Lyal – unhelpfully – snorted.

Fitz swallowed, twice, and then strode out the door.

“Old prejudices die hard,” Solas noted softly, but the smile was plain in his voice.

“Yes. Well. Fuck that guy,” I said, and turned my attention to Lyal, who was grinning broadly at  me.

“You have so many healers that you can afford to chase them off in the name of some elf? I can handle shem like him.”

“You are here to recover, not to be stressed. That sort of…” I paused, and said, “Behavior?” to Solas in English, and he provided the Common equivalent with another smile. “What I thought, thank you. That sort of behavior is bad for healing, and will not stand in my infirmary.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

It was my turn to snort. “In an Inquisition run by Hellen Adaar, his behavior will _definitely_  not stand.”

Her grin returned. “I suspect he will not refer to her horns as readily as he commented on my ears.”

“Yes, well. As I said before. Fuck that guy. Now. I brought Solas to see your leg, to see if he has an explanation.”

“I am no healer,” he answered mildly, but strode forward as Lyal turned to show him the long, smooth scar down her left quadriceps.

“It appears well healed. Exceptionally well healed, even. Why is this of interest?”

Lyal’s grin, impossibly, widened. “Because three days ago the surgeon wanted to take the whole leg off, and it smelled like death.”

Solas shot me a sharp look, and I nodded. “I took notes on everything that happened. It is in English, but I can read it to you if you like.”

“I would like,” Solas said. “And your other charges? I thought there were five wounded.”

“The first three only spent one night here. The other had a cut on his chest that did not hurt anything important. He healed fast, but nothing like Lyal here. He left this morning. It probably could have been sooner, but did not check their wounds yesterday afternoon as I should have.”

Solas gestured at the desk, and I sat down and started to read through my log to him. Lyal was interested in my notes, so I worked to translate them, with Solas providing words when I did not know their Common equivalent.

“What your notes are missing, da’len, are your own thoughts and intentions.”

His mode of address was not lost on Lyal, who had only that morning compared me to her Keeper. What I wouldn’t have paid to hear her thoughts as they flitted across her face.

“This is an…” I paused for Solas to translate the word I wanted. “…objective, thank you, note of Lyal’s condition. My emotions and intentions have no place in an objective narrative.”

“I disagree. Your intention might play a large role in her recovery.”

“My intention was only for her to keep her leg, for her infection to clear and her wound to heal.”

“Which is precisely what happened.”

“Of course, because I worked toward it. Lyal contributed, by following instructions. She rested, she did everything as was asked of her, and she helped my treatments to work.”

Solas was observing me over tented fingertips. “And yet you know there is something else at play here, else you would not have asked to _borrow_ me for the afternoon.”

“Yes.”

“Very well. I will investigate this phenomena for you. In the meantime, you must agree to modify your logs to include your wishes and emotional state.”

“I will do my best. It is against my training.”

“Then perhaps you should keep a journal separate from your logs.”

That was an easier idea. “I can do that, if you tell Josephine I need more paper than what she will give me.”

“I will see to it you have the supplies you need.”

“Alright. What do we do while I’m working on that?”  
“I have some books on basic alchemy I have been reviewing from the library. I believe you have the vocabulary necessary to understand the majority, and the intelligence to infer the rest. I have then stacked on my table.”

I made a note of the books, lest I forget. “Anything else?”

“I am sure that will be enough to keep you occupied for awhile,” he laughed.

“Fair enough,” I smiled.

“Have you finished borrowing me? Am I free to return to my earlier activities?”

“Yes, thank you very much, Solas.”

“My pleasure, da’len.”

He sedately rose and left the room.

“You are studying under him? Under an apostate elf?” Lyal asked. There was a tone in her voice I could not identify.

“Anyone would be blessed to study under Solas. He only called me da’len for the first time now. We haven’t talked about it before.”

She settled herself against her pillow – and the pillows from four or five other beds, it seemed – and studied me for awhile. I pulled out another sheet of paper and carefully dated the top – _Day 73_ – and started to write the journal Solas wanted me to keep. It was almost comforting, writing it in English; I knew no one would read it even if I left it out, so I felt free to write whatever I chose, within reason. I suspected I would be reading it out loud to Solas on a regular basis, so discussing my inner turmoil about missing Patrick was off the table.

I wrote a simple paragraph about Solas’ request, and the events that precipitated its necessity. Underneath, I made a quick bulleted list.

_Things I want right now:_

_Answers_  
_Memory  
_ _Patrick_

I looked at it for a moment and realized it wasn’t completely accurate. Seeing Patrick’s name on the list seemed wrong, somehow, like asking for the impossible wasn’t reasonable and thus unacceptable. Stubbornly, I left it in place.

“Your world must be very different from ours, to allow you to accept non-humans like you do.” Lyal said, apparently having reached the conclusion she sought.

“It is.” I glanced at the shadows on the floor, the closest thing Thedas seemed to have to a clock. “I have many hours before I need be anywhere. Would you like me to tell you about it?”

“I would,” she answered, surprised.

I laid on the bed next to hers and slowly told her the story of my life.

 

*

 

Cullen did not hide the surprise on his face when I knocked on his door that evening.

“I did not expect you to come,” he said, after bidding me enter.

“No? You think things being a little awkward would make me want you to suffer?”

He smiled weakly and shook his head. “Not that you would want me to _suffer_ perhaps, but when you phrase it like that I feel I have no possible reply.”

“You do not,” I said archly, and he sank backwards into his chair with a broader smile.

“There was a complaint lodged against you today,” he said in such a conversational tone I briefly thought I had misunderstood.

“A… what?”

“A complaint,” he enunciated clearly. “You did something someone did not like, and they told the advisor council about it.”

“That is what I thought you said,” I replied, feeling the air rush out of me. “What have I done?”

“Apparently, you had the audacity to insist elves be treated like people.”

I thought through his words carefully in my mind. “Fitz?”

“None other. Should I tell you _exactly_ what was said, or would generalizations be enough?”

“Your response, and that of the others, is more important. I can guess at what he said.” I held the ball of ice Solas had given me between my hands tightly, not wanting to start massaging the tension from Cullen’s neck until I had heard what he had to say.

“Very well. Josephine was mortified. Leliana, coldly furious. Hellen, blind burning rage. And I was intensely amused.”

“That you are saying this in such a manner means you agreed with me, yes?”

Cullen snorted. “If it needs saying, yes. There is no place for bigots in the Inquisition; just ask Sera. Josephine wanted to immediately call Lyal in for a formal apology. Leliana wanted Fitz dangled from the Inquisitor’s balcony in a gibbet. And Hellen would have agreed to both if I hadn’t stepped in.”

“And you stopped them how?”

“I told them,” Cullen said, suddenly unable to meet my eye, “That you’d given him the option to apologize, which meant you’d given him the option to stay. I said I doubted you would have left that on the table if he’d done something so offensive he needed to be gibbeted. We bring you to the war room because we value your input; we should not disregard it simply because you don’t state it explicitly to us.”

I set the ice onto the casement with numbed fingers. I had to physically watch my hands release it, as I could not longer feel what I was doing. Cullen’s neck was almost painfully hot against my palms, and he hissed out a surprised breath before slowly relaxing under my touch.

“Thank you,” I said softly. “What became of him?”

“He was given the same option,” Cullen’s reply was muffled by the desk as he gently laid his forehead down. “He could apologize – to you and Solas, as well as Lyal this time – or he was welcome to leave the Inquisition. Josephine promised him that he would find no _honorable_ work if he left, and Leliana added that he would find no _dis_ honorable work, either. He realized he was very badly outmatched, but he said he would stick to his principles, and he left.”

I sighed. “Principles, or pride?”

Cullen echoed the sound. “Very likely the second.”

“Solas had no ready explanation for why Lyal might have healed so quickly,” I told him after a long moment of silence. “He has agreed to study it, though, and has given me work to do to help. Also, he will teach me alchemy.”

“We have alchemists,” Cullen noted, but his voice was full of curiosity. “What makes you wish to study it?”

“You do not have the medicine I am used to,” I answered. “The solutions for pain, for anxiety, for nausea… none of them exist here. I am crippled in my craft without it. I think the best way to know what I can use here is to study it. Maybe I can add to the field.”

Cullen shook his head, and I responded by threading my fingers through his hair and holding his head still before slowly rubbing small circles on his scalp. His breathing ran ragged for a moment before evening out again.

“I was going to say,” he murmured, “that I doubt there is anything you could not accomplish, should you set your mind to it.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

We were quiet for while, as my hands gradually warmed against the radiating heat of Cullen’s skin. It struck me that, while incredibly effective, my solution for Cullen’s headaches was fairly intimate. Therapeutic touch was an important part of my practice back home, but here it was probably quite radical. I hadn’t gotten the feeling that he – or any of the dozens of his soldiers who had walked in on it – found the practice inappropriate. It likely wasn’t helping Cullen keep me straight in his head as _a married woman_.

“Cullen,” I said, breaking the silence. “I know I am… not ever going to be able to leave here. I will not be able to go home. But, in my mind, I am still very much married. I am starting to accept that I will not see my home, but I am not ready to accept that I will never again see Patrick. I know they should be the same, but they’re not. I don’t know how else to say it.”

“I know,” he said softly, although he went impossibly still under my hands, as if he was no longer breathing.

“It is important to me that you do not suffer. So I want to keep helping you with your headaches. Is that alright?”

“Yes, of course,” he said, sitting up quickly.

I danced a step to the side to put some distance between his face and my bust. “I do not want to make anything-“

“Maker’s breath, stop talking,” he groaned, but I could hear the humor and fondness in it. “I do not mistake your kindness, your dedication to your job, your _friendship_ for anything more. I am not a lecher, nor am I a fool. You have always made it perfectly clear that you are a wife first, a healer second, and a dear friend third. I respect that, Gwen, I swear to you.”

“I will make Dorian understand, too,” I said with a smile.

Cullen went inexplicably beet red. “Has Dorian been making any undue comments?”

“Not to me,” I quickly reassured him. “But I have seen him corner you, and it is not hard to guess at his intent.”

Cullen breathed a shaky sigh of relief, and I worked to tamp down the surge of curiosity. It was none of my business.

“I am sleeping in the infirmary tonight,” I told him, making my way to the door. I had forgotten my mug, so I left the ball of ice on the casement. Cullen could do with it what he chose. “If you start feeling bad, I want you to know how to find me.”

“Thank you,” he replied. “The infirmary is already the third place I look for you.”

That was too loaded to pass up. “The first being my room?” He nodded. “And the second?”

“Hellen’s room,” he answered with a hint of a smirk.

“Ah. I’ve woken up in Dorian’s chambers almost as many times, you know.”

He shook his head, just a hint of blush in his cheeks, and I wondered how Dorian had been taunting him with that tidbit of knowledge. I waved good night to him as I ducked out the door.

Lyal was asleep in the infirmary when I entered. I retrieved a pillow from one of the beds across the room – she had seven or eight of them on her bed now – and stripped down to my socks and my shift before claiming the bed next to hers.

The smooth sound of her breath reminded me of Hellen – and even vaguely of Patrick – and I was asleep within seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun side note... there's only two more chapters left in Part One!


	16. Pt I Ch 16: Identities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things that should have happened, happen.

I dreamed, as I usually dreamed, of Patrick. We were sitting on the couch, watching hockey, dog-sitting my dad’s beloved spaniel mutt while my parents were on vacation. The first period winded to a close – game tied, dog asleep, dinner finished and the dishes already cleared – and Patrick shifted on the couch. We had been leaning against each other, but he rolled so his face was pressed into my chest, and his arm slid beneath my knee to caress the bottom of my thigh.

“Excuse you,” I laughed. “You’ve only got 15 minutes in this intermission, and I’m _not_ missing this game!”

His hand drifted higher, and my heart skipped a beat. We could both hear the shift in my laugh. I would _absolutely_ miss a hockey game, and he knew it. He tilted his head up to tell me so…

…and the scar on the right side of his mouth pulled his smile into a lopsided smirk.

I awoke with a gasp, sitting up so quickly I nearly pitched out of the narrow bed. There was moonlight streaming in the windows and for a moment I was completely disoriented.

“Gwen?” a woman’s voice with a lilting elven accent called, and suddenly a concerned face appeared on my left.

“Lyal,” I breathed, the memory coming back with a jolt. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“You woke yourself, it seems,” she replied, turning to sit lightly on the side of my bed. “Did you have a nightmare?”

I hadn’t heard the word before – even with Cullen I referred to them as just bad dreams – but it was easy to figure out what it meant. “Nightmare? No. I don’t think it was quite so bad as that. Just… shocking.”

“Did you need to talk about it?”

I shook my head, maybe a little too vehemently. I could make out one of Lyal’s eyebrows drifting towards her hairline.

“I told you how I was married, back home? I dream most nights of my husband…”

“Oh. Say no more,” she said, laughing lightly and swinging to the floor and then onto her own bed with one graceful motion. “I need not hear about _that_ sort of dream.”

Better to let her think I’d had a sexy dream about Patrick than I try to explain the truth. “No, thank you.”

She was settling back into her bedding, then, and dropping quickly back to sleep. I laid myself down and thought myself lucky that Cole hadn’t been there to tell her what I’d really been thinking. And even luckier still that Solas wasn’t-

Solas could _absolutely_ have been in my dream. There was a fucking _dog_ on the floor, and dozens of places in my house I couldn’t see from where I was sitting on the couch. He could have even influenced it, by being there.

I could just picture him smirking from behind the liquid brown eyes of my dad’s spaniel. Who, I realized, I hadn’t ever actually dogsat for.

I tried to go back to sleep for nearly an hour, and failed miserably. It was nearing dawn – twilight was slowly pushing back the stars – when I slid out of bed and dressed, careful not to reawaken Lyal.

I descended to the courtyard; it was the long way to get to the main hall from the infirmary, but I had _no_ desire to walk through Cullen’s office right then. I was almost to the corner by the main gate when I realized the person I wanted to see was leading a hart out of the stable.

“Solas?” I asked softly, not wanting to disturb the animals. Dennett didn’t keep many inside the keep – just Hellen’s favorites and any that are going to be taken out by her team in the near future – but too loud of a voice could wake them and cause a hell of a commotion. “Where are you going?”

“Crestwood,” he answered, matching my volume.

“Take rain gear,” I advised.

He paused in the act of slinging his saddle bags over the beast’s withers. “Oh?”

“Most miserable rain of your life,” I affirmed.

He sighed. “I will ask to stop on the way; I fear none of us will be equipped for such weather.”

“Why are you going to Crestwood?”

He gave me a long, even look. He was quiet for so long I began to believe he wasn’t going to answer.

“I know one-half of the men you fear Hellen will have to choose between,” he answered carefully. “I believe the best way to help avert the event you so fear is to be with Hellen whenever she interacts with this person.”

“No,” I breathed. “No, Solas, you can’t. It’s something that has to happen.”

“Nothing _has_ to happen, da’len,” he informed me, the regret in his words almost too thick to bear. “And if I can’t change it, you and I can at least rest easy knowing we tried.”

It was clearly not an argument I could win. I couldn’t tell Hellen not to take Solas with her without explaining why; and then explaining to Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen why the Inquisitor’s party was delayed a day or two so someone else could take Solas’ spot.

“Did you fuck with my dreams?” I asked instead. “I know you can.”

His eyebrows shot up. “I have not attempted to _fuck with_ your dreams, as you say, so no to both counts. You are in rare form this morning. Did you have a worrisome dream?”

“I did,” I breathed. “Very worrisome.”

“We have a moment before anyone else arrives,” Solas assured me. “You would likely feel better if you divulged its contents.”

It was all I could do not to laugh bitterly. “Oh, nothing so bad. It's just that my brain has given up on my husband long before my heart could have hoped to. And instead of doing the smart thing and having meaningless sex with someone, my mind jumped straight into another serious relationship.”

“Were I not leaving momentarily for Crestwood,” Solas replied with a strangely amused tone, “I would help you in that endeavor, Gwen. Perhaps when I return?”

It took me a moment – a very long, terrible moment – to realize exactly what had just been said, and I felt my jaw hanging open.

Solas laughed. “I see you were not fishing for a proposition, then?”

I shook my head. “No. And now that I have one, I need to go… take a cold shower or something. I mean… thank you. But no.”

He laughed again. “Perhaps I will attempt to _fuck with_ your dreams after all, da’len.”

I knew him well enough to know he was teasing, but I could not help the embarrassed burn that crept up my neck to my ears. “Hopefully, by the time you return, I have good enough language skills to avoid these sort of things.”

“Oh, I dearly hope not,” he laughed, and slung a leg over the hart, tugging gently on the bridle to aim it at the gate.

“Gwen!” Hellen called softly, from far too close behind me. I jumped. “You came to see us off!”

“I did! I guess. I did not know you were leaving so soon.”

“Oh, right, because you _skipped out on the war room_ ,” she teased. “Solas, Sera, Cassandra and I are off to Crestwood.”

“Stop for rain gear on the way.”

She paused at the neck of the beautiful forder she’d led out of the stables. “Is that a hint?”

“No. It is exactly what it sounds like. It will rain in Crestwood. Miserable, ceaseless rain. Pick up something for Hawke and the Warden, too.”

“So Hawke finds him?”

I nodded. “There are other Wardens looking for him, so tread carefully.”

“Thank you,” she breathed. “Anything else?”

“Come home to us,” I answered.

She wrapped me up in a tight hug, lifting me off my feet.

“And… if you get a chance… make him come here? Alistair, I mean. I want to meet him.”

“You do?”

I nodded. “I really do.”

She set me down and then pulled herself into the saddle of her horse. “Your wish is my command, my lady Gwen.”

“I’m definitely nobody’s lady. Just Gwen. Well… Gwendolyn,” I told her.

“That’s lovely,” she said with a smile. “Why didn’t you say so before?”

“My name is Gwendolyn Rhiannon Murray,” I answered. “When first we spoke, I didn’t plan to stay long. There was no reason for my full name before.”

She seemed to understand. “I am glad I will get the chance to know you, Gwendolyn Murray, and not merely catch a glimpse that leaves me wondering.”

She turned her horse and rode to meet Solas, Cassandra, and Sera at the gate; the other two women had gotten their mounts while Hellen and I were talking. Without another glance in my direction, the four of them rode through the gates, aiming for Crestwood.

“Wants to know more, always more,” Cole’s soft voice said at my elbow. For some reason, it didn’t startle me as Hellen had. “Wanting, always wanting, but it is not allowed: she belongs to someone else.”

I was horribly confused for a moment, glancing around at whose thoughts Cole might be reading, until I happened to see Cullen on the ramparts, ostensibly watching the Inquisitor ride away.

“Who do you belong to? Did you not tell the hunter in the infirmary that everyone has possession of their own bodies?”

I sighed. “It is complicated, love,” I told him. “But he means, I am married. I am devoted to another man. And you should not tell me these things, they are private for him.”

“But he wants you to know. He wants to know about _you_ , everything about you, pressing for every detail, pressing-“

“Nope. Private thoughts. And, to be honest, I really knew already. I just can’t do anything about it. Give him some peace, okay? And I haven’t seen you in weeks, where have you been?

“You remember,” he replied, and I scrambled to keep up with the topic shift. “I tried to make you forget. Forget the story, forget the game, forget Patrick, forget _me_. But you can’t, you don’t, you won’t. I can’t help you with words anymore, so I tried to help you to forget, make it so the choices don’t cut you. But I can’t. Why can’t I? Even before you knew me, you knew me. Knew my story, knew Rhys and Evangeline. Why won’t you forget?”

“I don’t know, Cole. I’m sorry. Does it upset you?”

“You’re like me,” he said suddenly, and my blood ran cold. “Compassion and loyalty and wisdom. Like me but not like me.”

“I’m not, Cole,” I told him gently. “I’m strictly human. I was born this way, I’m the same now as I have always been.”

Cole merely shook his head. “I can still help you. I can’t help you forget, so I will help you remember.”

And then he was gone.

 

*

 

I found the stack of alchemical texts on Solas’ table, just as he’d said I would, and I took them to the infirmary to study in the light of the many windows there. I moved my journal to my room – the privacy of the space and intimacy of the candlelight would help me be honest, I hoped. Lyal spent another four days in the infirmary before we were both agreed that she was as recovered as she could be without returning to the training yard.

Dorian and I resumed our daily baths, Stitches came to me every morning to study modern medicine, and I finished every evening with a visit to Cullen’s office, to keep ahead of the Commander’s headaches. I dined with Josephine or Varric or Dorian – or some combination of those three.

The remaining time was claimed by Dagna.

It started the day Hellen left, when I realized there was not one single pair of crutches in Skyhold. Lyal didn’t have a pair to help her get around the keep and gradually rebuild strength in her damaged leg muscles because there weren’t any to be had. I went to Dagna and explained what I wanted – even sketching out how aluminum crutches were made adjustable back in my home world – and had a set for Lyal that evening. I had four pairs waiting for me in the undercroft the next day, as well as three new sleek metal syringes of varying sizes.

When I went down to pick up the crutches, we got into a discussion of sound waves and vibrations, and three days later I had a rudimentary stethoscope, and Dagna was testing other materials to use as the membrane. In the meantime, we discussed how and why she had learned Qunlat (she was researching gaatlok and all the texts were of course, qunari), the way mathematics was written in Common, and what exactly all the strange Theodosian metals were.

After about a week, I was bringing my alchemical studies to the undercroft with me, where Dagna supervised my first attempts at mixing draughts. It was, of course, far more complicated than it seemed to be in-game. Elfroot had to be dried, ground, and rehydrated in a kind of slurry before it could be used, as it was actually the _root_ of the plant that had medicinal properties. The leaves and smallest stems were a common culinary herb, and tasted remarkably like cilantro. Deep mushrooms needed to be pickled before using, and the _smell_ from the jar when they were finished about killed me. Dagna stood across the room and shouted her approval. “If I can smell it from here, you did it right!”

Dagna, herself, had warmed up to me quickly once we started working together. I could usually keep up with her when she tore off onto a tangent, and I knew what a _tangent_ actually was, which made her grin from ear to ear. She was still a hard ass, but she was also prone to fits of giggles and a buoyant sense of wonder. She seemed hesitant to babble like her in-game counterpart unless she felt comfortable in the company she kept; I wondered how many times she’d been ridiculed for her excitement before she learned to keep it hidden. Like everyone else, she was a _person_ , with varied moods and more dimensions than a cameo in a video game could impart.

Speaking in Common all day – and learning more and more polysyllabic words and technical terms from Dagna – expanded my vocabulary by leaps and bounds. I still didn’t feel _fluent_ , not like I did when speaking my native language, but more often than not I knew the word I wanted.

Hellen was gone three weeks, and in that time I was called into war room on four different occasions. The notes from the field were, by necessity, brief; Hellen said in the first one that I could likely elaborate more fully than she could in the limited space a raven’s message tube allowed.

“There is a rift in a lake?” Leliana asked, after reading the terse missive from Hellen. I explained the flooding of Old Crestwood – happily implicating the mayor – and the location of the actual rift in the tunnels deep underground.  When she sent word of a dragon, I showed Leliana on the map where she roosted, and Leliana wrote back with the applicable warning.

The next message said she’d cleared the rift, but the mayor had fled. Leliana had guessed at that meaning, but she and Cullen went to work at tracking the man down once I verified her suspicions. The last notice said that she had found the Warden, and that they would stop briefly in Skyhold before moving on.

“It’s the Western Approach to Orlais,” I told the collected war council. “If you send Lace now, she can get enough of a head start to have a base camp established before Hawke and the Warden can get there.”

“Who is this mysterious Warden?” Leliana asked. “And why has he not disappeared like the rest of his Order?”

“Do you want the surprise?” I asked with a grin.

“I never want the surprise,” Leliana answered grimly.

“It is Alistair,” I answered. Cullen grunted his recognition of the name, but Leliana’s eyes flew wide. “What? No! Why isn’t he running Amaranthine in Solona’s absence?”

“You can ask him yourself when he arrives. I asked Hellen to bring him here before letting him move on. He would have preferred to travel directly to the approach, but a night in Skyhold adds little time to the trip and a great deal of comfort.”

“You’re right, he will not stay long. And perhaps he can tell me where Solona has gone…”

“Would Solona have told him?” I asked.

Leliana gave me a sly smile. “While what they discussed in public was often limited, I understand their pillow talk leaves nothing undisclosed.”

I nodded. “I wondered if they were together. I hope he gives you what you seek.”

 

*

 

I was waiting in the courtyard when they arrived, looking as official as I possibly could: my hair carefully braided, my gold-trimmed white tunic spotless and perfectly pressed, my sheepskin boots brushed and oiled.

Solas clattered over the narrow bridge and into the keep first, swinging down from his hart and striding quickly toward me. He swept me into a hug to hide his whisper into my ear. “This is her choice? The last of the Theirins and would-be King of Ferelden or the Champion of Kirkwall?”

I nodded, sadly. He set me down, shaking his head sadly. “I wish you would help me prevent this from being necessary, da’len.”

“I wish I could, as well,” I replied.

We broke apart, then, as Sera and Hellen clattered through the gate. Cassandra and Alistair were close behind, with Merrill (who had insisted on going along) and Hawke bringing up the rear.

“I brought you our Warden,” Hellen called to me by way of greeting, and I dropped her the best curtsy Josephine could teach me. I had a similar curtsy for Cassandra, who nodded graciously in return, and a gratuitous wink for Sera, who still avoided me like a leper after my _pride cookies_ message.

“This is your _seer_?” Alistair said, resplendent in his warden-blue armor. I could hear the disbelief in his voice.

“I am so pleased to meet you, Alistair,” I said as Hellen drew him near. Merrill was eagerly craning her head over his shoulder to listen. “I would like very much to request a private audience, before Leliana gets her claws into you.”

He sighed. “I should have known… very well. Lead away.”

There was a study room just off the library, and I had made Dorian promise he would keep it empty for me. As I led Alistair in, I bade him sit, and enjoy the cheese and wine I had brought up for him. One eyebrow shot up. “This is your private audience?”

“Forgive me, I need one moment. I will return shortly.”

He sat down, utterly baffled.

I left the door open, crossed the library to where Fiona sat, and deliberately put my face nose-to-nose with hers.

Fiona was made of hard stuff – her ordeal in the Deep Roads had spat out a badass. She neither flinched nor scowled, merely raising her eyes to meet mine as if I was a spider dangling harmlessly in her light.

“You are going to go into that room and you are going to tell that man that you are his mother.”

Her eyes flew wide. “I beg your pardon?”

“There is a _very_ good chance that he is going to _die_ in the coming months, and you will regret this for the _rest of your life_ if you do not take the opportunity I have just laid at your feet.”

I was certain no one else could hear us – Fiona seemed to keep a permanent zone of silence swirling around her in the library – but it was impossible to not notice her reaction. We had the undivided attention of everyone in the room, including Alistair in the adjoining chamber. Her eyes were almost bulging out of her head in shock, and one hand had crept up to grasp at the heavy medallion that dangled just over her heart.

“How… Why… _How_ …”

“I will answer all of your questions later. Tomorrow, even, after he leaves. Even if he rejects you, you _both_ need this. He deserves the truth, and you will be miserable if you don’t come clean while you can.”

She stood, slowly rising to loom over me, even though when we both straightened I had almost an inch of height on her. She _was_ an elf, after all. I met her eyes – it took some effort, I admit – and after a few heart-pounding moments she turned and glided into the study. I shut the door behind her and leaned on the wall beside it, concentrating on mimicking Fiona’s cold glare as I fought to catch my breath.

I could hear their voices beyond the door, briefly, although I couldn’t make out a word of what they were saying. For a few terse moments his voice was raised in an indistinguishable shout, and hers answered with an undeniably remorseful, “No.” After a brief silence, there came again the rumble of voices, and it continued for long enough that I began to consider abandoning my post. Most everyone in the library had opted to move on; Dorian being the sole exception, as he sat in the corner he so often claimed for himself and watched me with something looking suspiciously like respect.

The door swung open suddenly, and Fiona glided back out of the room. Her face was perfectly composed, but her eyes were bloodshot. She turned so that our eyes met, and she gave me the briefest of nods. _Thank you_ , I interpreted it to mean.

“We need to have a word,” Alistair told me coldly. He held open the door to the study, and I ducked in with a feeling of dread settling in my stomach. The door clanged shut behind me.

“You delayed our trip to follow the lead on the Wardens for this?”

I turned slowly, tipping my chin up to meet his angry gaze. “Yes.”

He closed his eyes and swayed a bit on his feet. “I don’t know whether to scream or hug you.”

“I told Leliana your lead would take you to the Western Approach of Orlais.” His eyes snapped open. “She responded by dispatching her scouts, led by the amazing Lace Harding, to establish a base camp. I figured the detour to Skyhold would only cost you a day or two, and having an Inquisition presence in the ‘Approach would make up the time.”

“Hugging it is, then,” he warned, and I happily extended my arms. He swept me up into a tight embrace.

“Hellen said you were real, but it is easier to believe someone has been duped, or swept up into a fantasy. Fiona said… she said there was nobody alive who knew besides her, and yet you… And then you stared her down and made her believe she had to come tell me, that I could fall in battle…”

He set me down, and looked me square in the eye. “Were you just saying that? Or have you seen my fall?”

It was Alistair. Handsome, exuberant, sarcastic Alistair. I could not look him in the eye and lie. “There are some circumstances, that have not been ruled out, in which you die. Relatively soon. There are an equal number of circumstances in which you do not. It will ultimately rest on Hellen’s decisions – as does _everything_ in this world right now.”

“So I’ve got a 50/50 shot?” he quipped. “Better odds than I had with the arch demon. I’ll take it.”

“I have to tell you…”

“What now?”

“We will go to the Winter Palace, for a ball at Halamshiral, should everything go well between now and then. Morrigan will come back to Skyhold with us.”

“Ugh. Thanks for the warning. If I’m not dead, I will be prepared to be harassed.”

“Alistair,” I breathed, catching his armor. “Riordan died. You slew Loghain rather than allow him to Join. You and Solona were the only Wardens at the Battle of Denerim, and you both survived. _I know what that means_.”

He went deathly still. “You can not.”

“I’m sorry. If you have to kill me, wait until this is all over, when I’ve had a chance to help Hellen defeat Corypheus. I can do so much good still, and I _swear_  to you, I would never sell out the Wardens. It is not my secret to speak of. But Morrigan will come, and she will bring her son.”

His hands shook, a gentle tremor that was only just visible. “You can not know that.”

“I can, and I do. And I have spoken of it to _no one_. When Leliana told me who had lived in the Battle of Denerim, I told her, “ _So Riordan killed the arch demon_.” You may ask her, that was more or less what I said. I will not betray your Order, will not circulate the secret that could cost you recruits. I believe the Wardens are necessary.”

His tremble stilled but he was still far too calm. Frighteningly calm. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Partially because I’ve always been fond of you, if I’m honest. But more importantly, I’m telling you so that you can make the decision – the _informed_ decision – about whether or not you want to meet him.”

“You didn’t give me the option of whether or not I wanted to meet my mother.”

“That was not my secret to share. It was hers. Just as _this_ is not my secret to share. But I will not look you in the eye and lie to you, Alistair Theirin. Not now, not ever.”

“I will hold you to that promise… umm… did Hellen say your name was Gwen?”

I grinned. “Gwendolyn Murray. I would love it if you called me Gwen.”

He took a deep breath. “So will you swear to me, Gwendolyn Murray, that you will keep the secrets you.. um, _claim to_ have, about the Wardens?”

“I don’t know a fucking thing,” I said sincerely.

He barked a laugh. “I think I can live with that. Solona might turn you into a frog.”

“That’s only if she says she likes me first, right?” I teased. “ _Then_ its –zap-, frog time.”

He blinked. “Was that…? I said that in the Wilds, didn’t I? When Solona and I were… when we met Morrigan.”

“You did,” I smiled.

“So you really were there for all of it, somehow? Peering over Solona’s shoulder through the Veil?”

“Not through the Veil,” I corrected. “I’m not sure how it worked. It was… more like a very in-depth choose-your-own adventure book for me. I had the distinct impression that none of it was real. But, yes. I was there for all of it.”

“Even when we first…?”

“Yes.”

“Or the time I…?”

“That too.”

“Or when I gave her the-“

“Rose from Lothering?”

“Maker’s breath.”

“It will be better if you just don’t think about it.”

“That’s… that’s exactly what I will do,” he agreed with a shudder.

“Come on. We’ll find Hawke and Hellen, get you cleaned up and fed, find you a solid place to sleep for the night, and have you on the way by morning.”

He didn’t answer, but flamboyantly gestured for me to lead the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Family reunion: check.


	17. Pt I Ch 17: "Nevermore"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess What!  
> This is the last chapter in Part I.  
> The next section I am calling The Interim. It will contain various other POVs and a very large shift in the direction of the story. The Interim will be nine or ten chapters of varying lengths. They are all super important. Hold onto yer butts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I received NEW ART this weekend. I've put it on the very top of Chapter One. It is beautiful and you should all go partake in its glory. Also, dissatisfied_doodles is the best.

Alistair spent the night near the mage’s quarters, insisting he had to take the opportunity to question _former warden_ Fiona about her removal from the Order. He made it plainly obvious that this was why I had insisted he come to Skyhold – so he could get information in a timely manner. He even went so far as to thank me for it over dinner in Hellen’s quarters.

He and Hawke left early the next morning, with Merrill staying in Skyhold to send messages to their friends in hiding. Anders and Carver had been smuggled out of Kirkwall by Aveline, and were dependent on Hawke to keep them in touch with what was happening with the Wardens and Corypheus.

Hellen took three days to rest and resupply before following.

I watched her leave from the steps, Solas again in her party, with Merrill accompanying Cassadra and Varric. Sera was left behind due to her utter inability to tolerate time alone with both Solas _and_ Merrill.

I buried myself in my work, and tried desperately to think about anything other than what was coming.

When the message came from Hellen, bearing the horrifying news of what the Wardens were doing, I was the second to know.

The first person to know, Leliana, made sure of it.

She stormed into my room beneath the kitchens in the quiet time just before dawn, grabbed me by the ankle, and hauled me out of bed to land unceremoniously on the floor.

“ _You knew_ ,” she hissed.

“I knew,” I confirmed. What else could I say?

“You’ve known the missing wardens were raising a demon army, and you said _nothing!”_

“If I had told you, what would you have done? Would you have believed me? And if you had believed me, would have you have sent Hellen there?”

Leliana’s stayed silent – but she slowly released my ankle.

“The answer to both of those is _no_ ,” I continued with a sigh. “Leliana, I do not know how much I can change, without fundamentally changing the person Hellen becomes. Would she have the strength to defeat Corypheus if she never saw the horror in the Western Approach? If we marched on Adamant immediately, would we have the manpower to take it, without the numbers we have gained in the last months? Would the wardens fight harder against us, if their warriors had not seen the horrors their mages have become? Would Hawke – would _Alistair_ – believe us if they did not see it for themselves?”

“Alistair and Hawke are necessary, then?”

I nodded. “Alistair holds a bit more influence over the Wardens than Hellen, or even Clarel. He can help.”

Leliana dropped into my desk chair with a slump. “Why do you not simply take my position? You know more than I could ever hope to.”

I shook my head. “I only know about the events that reach Hellen, the ones she has to make a decision about. I have no knowledge of the dozens – maybe even hundreds – of threats you neutralize before they are realized. I can only tell you how things _might_ happen, and what I _know_ to be important. You, Leliana, are definitely important.”

“Thank you,” she breathed.

“Did Alistair tell you anything about Solona?”

“No, the prick,” she laughed. “ I keep hoping she will show up of her own accord, and help us with Corypheus.”

“I hope she stays as far from Corypheus as humanly possible,” I replied with a shudder.

“Does the corruption of the Orlesian wardens extend beyond manipulation?”

“It does. One more reason to bring him down, as if we needed it.”

“Is there anything else you will… anything else you _can_ tell me?”

“You can convince many of the wardens to break ranks, to battle _with_ you against the demons. There is already dissension in the ranks. They do not know it is Corypheus who is holding their leash, but Clarel _definitely_ recognizes the name. You can save many of their lives if you can get to Clarel and make her see wisdom.”

Leliana nodded. “Again, thank you. Will you come to the war room, and help me break this news to Cullen and Josephine?”

“I will. Can I dress first?”

She laughed, nodding. “Yes, of course.”

The war council went as well as one might imagine. Josephine was horrified, while Cullen shared but a fraction of Leliana’s outrage.

“You _knew_.” He said to me after Leliana finished reading Hellen’s missive.

I nodded. “I did. I know a great many things that you are not yet ready to hear. If I were to tell you all at once everything you will face, I will destroy the morale of your armies. One at a time, they are bad but not insurmountable.”

He drew a quick breath and then nodded. “Point taken. I will take things as they come.”

“What shall we do?” Josephine asked me.

“You plan as if I am not here. You are all far better at your jobs than I could ever hope to be; you are all _necessary_. If there is a question I can help clear up, I will. If there is an eventuality you wish to know whether to plan for, I will try to help you cover everything.”

It was without question that the Inquisition needed to march on Adamant. Cullen had some information about the keep, but Leliana knew how to get more. She promised plans in short order. Josephine made a list of allies who were near to the fortress, who might be able to support the offensive.

“Will the dragon be present?” Cullen asked immediately.

“Yes.”

“Will Corypheus?”

“I do not think so, no.”

“Has Adamant been heavily fortified?”

I made a show of shrugging. “I am no expert in fortifications. Hawke and Alistair are scouting it, you will get better information from them.”

That satisfied Cullen; Alistair was a veteran of many battles, and generally considered to be the military mind behind Solona’s successful campaigns both during the Blight and after. That definitely wasn’t the Alistair I knew, but I was learning that, as rich as the game environment had been, real people are always deeper and more faceted than fiction.

“Yet another reason to have brought him on board,” Leliana said with the air of a compliment.

I accepted the statement with a nod and a smile. I knew the truce between myself and the Nightingale was temporary at best; if I didn’t win her over at Halamshiral, she might kill me after the Arbor Wilds.

By the time Hellen returned, Cullen had received Leliana’s plans of the original Adamant, as well as detailed notes from Alistair about what parts of the keep showed signs of new masonry and refortification – and which did not. Cullen had told Josephine what machinery would be useful, and Josephine had acquired agreements from various Orlesian nobility to provide it; what was not on hand was being built, and everything would be completed before the Inquisition could reach Adamant. Leliana had dispatched scouts to determine the swiftest route for the army to march, and where to camp en route; Josephine had acquired permissions from landowners for the entirety of the route. The quartermaster had need of two more days to have the army supplied and ready to march when I met Hellen at the gates.

I was dressed in my official infirmary uniform, again, although this time it was out of cowardice as opposed to a willingness to make a good first impression. I did not think Hellen would yell at me in public if I appeared as one of her advisors.

She dismounted and stood at the side of her horse studying me for a moment before handing the reins to a stable boy and slowly crossing the courtyard towards me. I swallowed, hard, and tipped my chin up.

“How many more horrors do you hide inside your head?” she asked gently. “You poor woman.”

It was not what I expected. My composure cracked and it was all I could do not to sob aloud. Hellen closed the distance between us and swept me up into a tight embrace. “I was so afraid you would hate me, for not telling you.”

Her arms tightened around me. “And yet you met me down here, chin high? You are braver than any give you credit for.”

I laughed, a bit brokenly, and she sat me down. “It was pure cowardice. I did not think you would yell at me in public.”

“Believe what you will,” she said, stepping back with her hands on my shoulders, holding me at arm’s length. “Alright, the key question. Is marching on Adamant the right decision?”

I nodded. “You must.”

“Alright then, to the war room.” I was swept up in her wake, and made it almost to the stairs leading up to the second level of the courtyard when a hand on my elbow spun me around. Solas’ eyes were intense.

“The decision you fear? It happens at Adamant?”

I swallowed. “Yes? And no.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “You must give me more than this.”

I started to shake my head, and he led me away – rather firmly – until there was no one around to hear.

“I will not speak of it to Hellen, if that is what you fear. But if I can come up with a third alternative, another option that saves them..?”

“You _will not_ risk yourself,” I hissed, and Solas staggered backwards. His eyes shot open wide. “You are necessary. You know better.”

“I… understand,” he said, hesitantly, as if he could not believe the words coming out of his mouth. He was immediately drawn back into deep thought. “If I can come up with an option that does not require a death? If all that is changed is that decision in that moment? Is it not your dearest wish to avoid unnecessary deaths? And if I cannot, would you rather live with the knowledge that you at least _tried_?”

The tiny bit of cowardice in my chest reared its head. Would it not be easier to tell Merrill, to tell Solona, to face Varric and Fiona, if I could tell them that _Solas and I tried to avoid this_ …?

Solas leapt on my hesitation. “Merely tell me how, the broadest terms, the choice comes about, so that I might watch at the correct time?”

“At Adamant,” I said slowly, not at all comfortable with my decision, “Hellen is… drawn away from the fortress, along with Hawke, Alistair, and her team. In order to return, and close a rift in Adamant’s courtyard, she must… sacrifice either Hawke or Alistair, to create a distraction.”

“A distraction?” Solas breathed. “This I can work with, da’len.”

“Solas…”

“Shush, da’len, I know the importance of the long game, as you say. Forget not to whom you speak.”

It was a damn good point, and I felt my jaw click shut. If there was one person who knew the actions of a moment could destroy the goals of the future, it was Solas.

“To the war room with you, then. You can trust me to keep your secrets, as I trust you to keep mine.”

Another good point. I turned on my heel and scurried off, getting into the war room just a moment behind Hellen – but two full minutes before Cullen. He shot me a very concerned look, but Hellen was asking for reports and I quickly forgot it. Hellen was beyond impressed at the readiness of her advisors, and they happily gave me the credit for their preparedness.

“Who do I take with me?” Hellen asked, after the last detail had been agreed upon.

It was a loaded question, I knew, but an answer immediately jumped to mind. “Do not take Cole,” I told her quickly. “And Sera would rather not be with you. They will both thank you later. That is ultimately, however, your decision.”

“Solas has been insisting on coming with me, of late,” she said, with a raised eyebrow.

“He will likely insist on coming with you now, as well.” I could tell her not to take him, and nip the entire problem in the bud. But if I went over his head, told Hellen he should not go, would I destroy our alliance, remove any chance for friendship? Again, there were too many things I did not know. “He… believes he will be of use, and I cannot deny that you will want him there, if you do not take him.”

“Army of demons, no?” Leliana offered. “Our resident expert on the Veil will undoubtedly be useful.”

“Very well. Any other comments, concerns?”

“I would like a word with the lady Gwen, when all else is settled,” Cullen mentioned, almost as an aside. “Nothing to concern the rest of you.”

Leliana raised an eyebrow, and Josephine elbowed her friend in the ribs, causing them both to giggle. Cullen rolled his eyes. “You two are relentless.”

Hellen seemed amused, but took pity on the Commander. “Josephine, I would have a word with you, as well.”

Leliana’s face split into a grin and she stepped out of the room with alacrity. Hellen and Josephine stepped into the Ambassador’s office, shutting the door to the war room behind them. The room was magically sealed – there was no eavesdropping in the war room – so once the latch clicked shut, Cullen wheeled on me.

“Did he threaten you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Solas. I watched him drag you away from Hellen, saw your conversation. You looked… uncomfortable does not seem strong enough to describe your face. There were moments where you looked terrified. Did he threaten you? Are you safe?”

I let out a long breath, rather than laugh. “He definitely did not threaten me. He is… trying to help me, but I prove to be reticent about accepting assistance. I am safer with Solas than I would be with almost anyone else in the world; fear not, Commander.”

“Helping? That expression on your face is how you look when you’re being _helped_?” He clearly did not believe it.

“I have shared one of my secrets with Solas,” I confessed. “He and I have been arguing about what parts of the future can and cannot be changed, and still allow the Inquisition to succeed. I fear little changes might add up to massive alterations, and he believes little changes can be done safely, like my insistence on the evacuation of Haven. He thinks more lives can be saved than I do. Please do not ask for more information than that, it is already nearly out of hand.”

“Do you think…” Cullen began before he could help himself, and stopped talking with an effort. “Forgive me, but should he be stopped? Do you think he will harm-"

“No,” I interrupted immediately. “Solas will do nothing that might possibly harm Hellen’s chances at success. He needs our victory as badly as anyone else; the world Corypheus wants is bad for us all.”

“Very well,” Cullen said, with another rough exhale. “Forgive me, then, for intruding.”

I laughed, and gestured for him to walk with me as I moved towards the war room door. “You never need apologize for worrying over my safety, Cullen. I am no mage, no warrior, no rogue. I understand my relative frailty. I am not so foolhardy as to believe I do not need protection in your world.”

The admission seemed to further settle him. “I am glad that is one point, at least, I will not have to argue with you over.”

“Argue!” I laughed as I pushed the heavy door open – or, rather, tried. It moved very slowly indeed, until Cullen reached over my shoulder with one armored hand and made it nearly fly open with barely a shove. His other hand on my waist kept me from tumbling through the doorway. “When have I ever argued with you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he mused with a smile. “When you fainted in the infirmary and refused assistance?”

“Fainted?” Hellen called, shocked. “You said she _stumbled_.”

“Whoops,” Cullen said flatly, before grinning at me.

“You son of a bitch,” I muttered, and the Commander burst out laughing before bowing quickly to Josie and Hellen and bee-lining towards the door.

“You _fainted_?” Hellen said, striding towards me. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d fainted?”

“I was exhausted and shocked,” I answered, a bit defensively. “And the _stumbling_ bit was true, because I did stub my toe as we were leaving, and that was ultimately why Cullen hauled me off to my room like I was a petulant child.”

“Shocked why?” Hellen pressed, as Josephine snorted in disbelief. “I assure you, Gwen, the Commander definitely does not think of you in a parental way.”

I wave Josie off. “I’ve seen Cullen fall in love enough times, I know what it looks like. No surprises there. And, Hellen, I was shocked at Lyal’s recovery. She came back from that leg wound in _four days_.”

“Okay, four days is a big deal, but what did you just say about Cullen?” Josephine had hurried over to stand beside Hellen and the two of them were gazing at me eagerly. “You know he’s head over heels in love with you?”

I sighed. “We have talked about it, in a roundabout sort of way. He’s a gentleman, and he understands that I am _married_ , and I still consider myself _married_ , and that is that.”

Josephine’s hands shot up to cover her mouth as her eyes welled up with tears. Hellen’s face was a textbook image of shock. “You… you didn’t. When was this?”

I shrugged. “While you were in Crestwood, I think? No, before then. Its been a little while.”

Josephine turned on her heel and dashed from the room.

“What am I missing?” I asked Hellen.

“Josie and Leliana have been harassing Cullen pretty incessantly to confess his feelings for you. He always refused to talk about it, but they assumed it was Cullen being… well, Cullen. Josephine is probably off to cry to Leliana about what terrible people they are, and Leliana will come up with some obtuse way to apologize to Cullen. They’ve been _torturing_ him without realizing it.”

I didn’t have a response, but my heart did break a bit for Cullen. At least things would get easier for him from this point on.

“What did he want to talk to you about, then?”

“He thought I was acting strangely earlier, and wanted to make sure I was alright. He is a dear friend, Hellen, and I know to be easy on his heart. There is no misunderstand between us.”

“And are you? Alright?”

“I am. Thank you for asking.”

I spent the next two days, leading up to the army leaving, taking a careful inventory of the wagonload of supplies I was sending to Adamant. Eleanor was taking charge of the medical corps in the field, with three other surgeons serving under her. I had conducted interviews with all the remaining infirmary staff to be sure any undercurrents of bigotry were removed. Fitz’s decision to leave Skyhold had been noted by everyone, it seemed, and no one else wanted to be faced with the same choice. The rumor was that he had joined Gaspard’s forces as a healer in the Exalted Plains; I had encouraged Leliana to let him stay there. “If he even survives those battles, he will still be suffering far more than anything we could do to him.”

Eleanor had taken a great interest in what she called my _new_ methods of healing, and met with me frequently to discuss how things might be made better. They were packing enough silver and honey to create dressings for a hundred injuries like Lyal’s, and critical injuries were going to be sent to me the second their sufferers were made stable. Eleanor was also allotted a dozen ravens to send back to me with progress reports and questions, although Leliana said it was a two-day lapse from when a raven would be set loose until we received it, so questions would take four days to be answered.

Blackwall was left in charge of the defense of Skyhold while Cullen was in Adamant, although Josephine was the nominal head of the Inquisition in Hellen’s absence, with me as her immediate second-in-command. Leliana went with Cullen and Hellen, leaving Lace Harding in control of the rookery, with instructions to bring all missives to me once they had been decoded. Sera also stayed behind, as well as Cole and a token force of soldiers and mages. Hellen’s strike team would consist of Solas, Varric, and Cassandra. Vivienne went along with Fiona at the head of the mages, while Dorian, Bull, and the Chargers were tapped to provide protection to Cullen and Leliana so that they could focus on leading the battle.

“I should go,” Cole said to me the morning everyone was leaving. “I can help, I can…”  
He trailed off as I willfully summoned up my memory of his reaction to finding himself in the Fade, and he sucked in a sudden breath. “You’re protecting me. You told Hellen to leave me behind to keep me safe?”

I pulled him into my arms for a hug. “And to keep _me_ safe while they are gone. Josephine loves me but cannot protect me, while I cannot trust Sera and dare not trust Blackwall.”

“We will protect each other,” he said, and then he was gone.

I shook hands with Cassandra and Varric as they went by, and got a cold nod from Vivienne. Bull swept me up in a tight hug, Krem and I bumped knuckles, and every last one of the Chargers rubbed my head for luck. Half of them said, “Thanks, ma,” on the way by.

Dorian also wrapped me up in a tight embrace, although he seemed – for once – to be at a loss for words.

“I have to admit,” Solas said a bit darkly as he sauntered up to me, “I am a bit surprised you have not acted on my offer, da’len. I almost think you were serious when you denied your intent.”

I had to think for a moment, but when I realized what he was saying I felt my face go hot. “Honestly? The idea terrifies me.”

“Terror seems a harsh response.”

I shook my head. “I am afraid, ha’hren, that you would _ruin me_ for life.”

His mouth tilted upwards in a knowing smirk. “It seems you truly do know everything about us.”

He walked away and I fought to control the redness in my features.

“What I wouldn’t give to know what he just told you,” Hellen laughed, and I blushed all over again.

“If you ever want lessons in tormenting me, Solas would be your best teacher.”

“I will keep that in mind,” she said, and then lifted me into a hug. “Last chance to tell me what to do,” she teased as she set me back onto my feet.

“Give me a hug just like that one when you come home,” I said simply.

She smiled. “Yes, ser.”

Cullen was one of the last out the gate, walking his horse up to me as the rest of them passed through. I had spent extra time with him every evening, consciously willing his withdrawals to stay at bay while he was gone. “Any advice?” he asked.

“Have faith,” I answered immediately. “No matter what, do not lose faith.”

He smiled at me, his scar tugging it out of symmetry. “I think I can manage that.”

“Good. Trust to your abilities and your allies, because _you got this_.”

He reached for my hand, but our position was such that he could only reach my left. He bowed over it, gently kissing my knuckles. There was no way his lip didn’t brush my wedding band, but he didn’t let a reaction show on his face. “Thank you, Gwen.”

“You’re welcome, Cullen.”

The gates shut ponderously behind them, and the worst few weeks of my life began.

 

*

 

Josephine and Lace kept me busy. Sera surprised me by wanting to talk on the very first afternoon after the army left.

“Hellen said I secretly didn’t want to go with ‘em,” she told me, making clear her disagreement with the statement. “Why’d you go and tell her that rubbish?”

“When the story comes out about what actually happens at Adamant, you will be _very_ glad you didn’t go.”

“Why’s that? You think I’m some kinda chicken? Like I’m a coward what won’t help her friends?”

I sighed. “Ask me again in a week.”

“Yeah? Fuck you.”

Cole seemed to have heard the entire exchange, and every time either Sera – or Blackwall, who had become fast friends with the elf – were anywhere near me, Cole lurked surreptitiously nearby.

I got my first message from Eleanor almost exactly two weeks after they’d left. They had surrounded Adamant, cutting the wardens off to start the siege of the fortress. She had unpacked the wagon to find everything had survived the journey intact, although they had not yet needed to treat anyone. She expected the first injuries to come in the next morning, when the siege engines were set up and the assault began.

After discussing the message with Josie and Lace, and deciding to send a very simple, _awesome, got your first message, glad to hear it_ reply, I went to find Sera. She was alone in her room – the tavern largely empty – and she had no love in her expression when I walked right in and shut the door behind me.

“I don’t recall agreeing to _ask you again_ ,” she said by way of greeting.

“Hellen’s going back into the Fade,” I told her without preamble. “It’s the only way she escapes death, _again_ , and this time everybody in her team goes in with her. I told her not to take Cole – because Cole would _lose his shit_ if he went into the Fade like he is – and not to take you, because the whole thing gives you the heebie jeebies. I wanted to spare you that.”

Sera was openly staring at me. “You told Hellen she was going back into the Fade?”

“Fuck no. If I told her that, she’d spend the whole trip worrying about it, wondering how she would do it and _when_ she was supposed to, and then second-guess herself about whether it would even work. I wanted to be sure that, when she was falling to her _death_ , she didn’t take the moment to wonder _do I do it now?_ Or worse, what if she assumes she doesn’t die because _I haven’t gone into the Fade yet_ and splatters on the fucking rocks? I know it works if she does it out of reflex, out of survival instinct, and I’m not going to do anything that reduces her chance for survival.”

Sera was clearly at a loss. “Her survival?”

I nodded. “My first priority is making sure Hellen comes out the ass-end of this cockup _alive_. As long as she’s alive, we’re still in the fight. I don’t really care if you hate me, if Blackwall wants me dead, if Cullen can’t stand the sight of me. Hellen needs to live. If I can save all of the rest of you glorious asschabs in the process, I will.”

Sera had no further response, as she was clearly boggled, and I left without another word.

I got my next message the next day, again from Eleanor. It was the first reports of injuries, as the siege engines had been set up quicker than she anticipated, and the assault had begun in the night. She was sending the raven at noon, and they had sustained only two deaths but three dozen injuries in that time; most of them minor arrow wounds from the defending archers.

Lace’s report from Leliana – that came six hours later – was two terrifying sentences.

_The gate is down._

_Hellen is inside._

I fell to my knees at the side of Josephine’s desk, as none of us had felt right meeting in the war room.

“What? What is it? What happens?” Josephine sprang to my side while Lace stepped quickly out of her way.

“The next message. It will either say Hellen has gone into the Fade, or it will tell you she has just come out of it, one man short.” I did not attempt a battle against the flood of tears that rushed down my cheeks.

“ _What_?” Lace hissed. “She leaves someone in the Fade? Who?”

“Either Alistair or Hawke,” I wept. “They fight, over who will create the distraction that allows Hellen to escape, and they force her to choose.”

“Why? Why did you not say something sooner?” Lace demanded. Josephine was wrapping herself around me and beginning to rock slowly back and forth on the floor.

“She had to go,” I stammered between sobs. “She gets her memories back in the Fade. She learns _so much_ in the Fade, things she needs… “

“Maker’s breath,” Lace swore, falling gracelessly into a heavy armchair. “Could you have warned somebody else?”

“Oh, but she did,” Josie said softly. “You told Solas, did you not? That’s why he hasn’t left Hellen’s side, why you were arguing in the courtyard. Solas knows.”

“I told Solas,” I confirmed as I scrubbed at my eyes. “When I met Hawke, I was so… so devastated. I don’t know why I ran to him, but I did, and I told him… I told him as little as I could to make him understand why I was so upset. He’s been working since then to come up with another way, but he promised he wouldn’t keep Hellen out of the Fade. The demon… the nightmare demon is between them and the way out, there’s no way around it and they cannot hope to kill it. He promised he would not trade deaths, he wouldn’t sacrifice himself or anyone else to save Hawke and Alistair.”

“I have never before hoped, so fervently, for you to be wrong,” Josephine said as Lace helped us both to our feet.

“We will have to wait and see,” Lace replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;  
> And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.  
> Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow  
> From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—  
> For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—  
> Nameless here for evermore.


	18. Interim: The Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Garrett Hawke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I wrote this while I was in Germany - which was way back in July. It was not influenced by any reader's comments or theories.

“I should not have left Merrill behind,” I told Alistair as we waded through what would have been a swamp anywhere else. “I can practically _hear_ her oohing and aahing over this.”

As Alistair laughed, the eggheaded elf – not that I have problems with elves, but _this guy_ was every negative stereotype of the Dalish rolled into one ironic package – rolled his eyes. “It is better for us all that we are not forced to keep tabs on her while we journey within the Fade. This is dangerous enough without taking a childish approach to it.”

“When did you hit adulthood, Solas? Eight, ten months after you were born?” Hellen shot me a dirty look but I got a wink from Varric, which was usually my goal.

Solas didn’t deign to answer. Hellen told me he was _insisting_ on travelling with her whenever I was around, and I’d figured it was to keep tabs on Merrill. She never got over losing her clan, and it seemed the story spread faster than the aravelles carrying it. The equation was painfully simple: knife ears, plus, not raised in an alienage, equals, _hates Merrill_. But here we were, three mages, two warriors and a rogue hiking through the Fade like we’re on the single most fucked up picnic ever; and still Solas is watching me like a… Well, like a hawk.

I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face fast enough for Cassandra or Hellen, but Varric walked over to elbow me off the path. When he got close I could _just_ hear him laughing.

This was almost like old times.

Except, of course… Fade.

It was impossible to tell time, but maybe an hour after we’d helped Hellen scrape up memories, I realized Solas wasn’t just keeping his eagle eye trained on me. He was all over Alistair like stink on a pig, as well. I angled over to the Warden to ask him if he’d noticed the undue attention.

“I can’t believe I’m actually going to say this, but _how are you in such a good mood_?” he demanded. “Maker’s elbows, now I know how aggravating it was to travel with me during the Blight.”

I heard Varric laugh behind us as I quipped an answer. “Wardens, Blight. Mages, Fade. Makes sense.”

The last of the Theirins managed a weak little snort of laughter. “Fair enough.”

“But, seriously, have you noticed Solas? It’s almost like he can’t decide which one of us smells worse.”

“I hadn’t, if I’m honest,” Alistair replied. “I’m much more interested in _not dying in the Fade_ at the moment. What I wouldn’t give for Solona to be here. She pulled my ass out of the Fade the last time I got trapped.”

“You’re not trapped,” Hellen said wearily. “Andraste’s ass, Alistair, the rift is _right there_.”

“What, behind the four-story-tall nightmare demon? I must have missed it.”

We were fighting then, in the tight formation we’d been practicing ever since arriving in the Western Approach all those weeks ago. I stayed close to Alistair and Cassandra, and whenever they took damage – or dealt it – I was able to scrape up an extra bit of power from the blood as it fell to the stones. Hellen, who wasn’t the spirit healer Anders was, but definitely had the _potential_ to be, sealed up their wounds before anyone got beat up too badly.

Then the barricade was down and Hellen sent her team running for the rift. I watched Cassandra _bodily throw_ Varric out of the Fade and I took back every mean thing I’d ever thought about the Seeker. Alistair and I were with Hellen, and suddenly the Nightmare was between us and the exit.

“Go! Wardens caused this mess, a Warden needs to fix it,” Alistair said, taking a step back. “I will cause a distraction.”

I raised my voice to argue – the Wardens needed leadership, and _that was him not me_ – and I saw Hellen’s face fall.

She was going to have to make a decision.

“All three of you need to start moving towards the rift,” Solas suddenly said from behind us. “Gwen warned me this would happen… I will create the diversion.”

Hellen spun to him, fury and fear on her face.

“She made me promise I would not risk myself. Give me ten minutes to make my escape, and then close the rift.”

“You heard the man,” Hellen said, grabbing a hold of both of our necks and pulling. “Go!”

“No-“ I heard Alistair complain, with the same word at the same time as me.

“THAT IS AN ORDER,” the Inquisitor bellowed.

If there is one thing – _just one thing_ – I learned in all my years in Kirkwall, it is this: once a qunari starts yelling, you’ve got about a minute before that qunari will start swinging. With a nod to Alistair, I fell in with the Inquisitor, and Solas seemed to _swell_ somehow. He didn’t grow any bigger in reality, but in my perception he was suddenly larger than life. Hellen’s hand on my shoulder quickly drew him out of my line of sight.

Once he was a bit behind us, I could hear the elf saying something in his native language. He was far more fluent than Merrill had ever been, which I didn’t think was possible. I could only pick out maybe one in every four or five words, but I got the very clear idea that Solas was _taunting_ the Nightmare. He stopped talking as the Nightmare responded – but the demon in turn was cut off by a series of world-shaking explosions.

And then Hellen was lobbing me through the rift and everything went green.

Alistair bounced off the flagstones beside me as my vision swam into focus, and Hellen stood over both our forms, staff out, left hand shining to beat the sun.

“WE DEFEND THIS RIFT UNTIL SOLAS COMES OUT,” she commanded her forces.

She helped Alistair and I to our feet, and we had just enough time to turn and take up positions before minor demons started streaming out of the rift.

The seventeenth creature to materialize was a battered – but _alive_ – eggheaded mage.

Alistair caught him as he stumbled, and Hellen’s left hand shot up to close the rift. She was running to Solas’ side mere seconds later, although without the blood of her enemies to sustain her, she was either running on fumes or as tough as she was made out to be.

Adaar as a blood mage would kick down the gates of heaven.

I was sort of glad she opted for the fluffy-bunny healer-of-the-people route.

“Don’t,” Solas muttered as she placed hands on his wound. “I want to leave it for Gwen.”

“You-,” Hellen started to yell, but remembered her audience and dropped her tone into an angry mutter, “stubborn prick.”

“See to your people, Hellen. I will live.”

Merrill found me, then – she wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near this battle, but outside with the Commander. As she flung herself into my arms, I realized I really didn’t give a shit. She was fine – I was fine – we were all fine.

I said as much out loud, and Alistair rolled his eyes.

Hellen was making some speech about the Wardens – I should probably have cared – but I sat down heavily next to the egghead.

“Gwen told you… what?”

He shifted a bit, nursing a healing potion with a look of resigned suffering on his face. “The day she met you, sirrah Hawke, and she fled the battlements, she came to find me, to seek someplace hidden where she could vent her sorrow. She described the situation as best she could: you and ser Alistair, standing side-by-side, arguing over who would stay behind so that the Inquisitor might escape.”

“You knew we were coming to the Fade?” Hellen demanded, striding over post-speech. Cullen was close on her heels.

Solas shook his head. “She would not tell me when or where this decision would be forced, only that it was inevitable. She decreed it _necessary_ , as it was the only way you could retrieve your missing memories.”

Hellen, quickly succumbing to exhaustion, sat down heavily beside him. Cullen turned, called a few orders, and then several soldiers came running over with empty crates for us to sit on. Hellen dragged herself up onto one, Alistair took a second, and Cullen the third; I opted to stay sprawled on the ground next to my unlikely savior. Merrill perched on the fourth, entranced by the story Solas wove. She had this amazing light in her eyes when she was listening to a story…

“I decided to follow you and Hawke on your journeys, so that when this decision was forced I might have the opportunity to create a third option. Before we left Skyhold last week, she admitted that either Garrett or Alistair would need to create a _distraction_. Once we fell into the Fade, I realized that _this_ was the most likely setting for the decision she feared, as otherwise she could have given me some vague description; a ruined fortress, the midst of battle, _some_ thing. So I watched for the scenario to unfold, and continuously looked for ways and places a diversion might be created. The Nightmare perched in front of the rift we intended to use as an exit was a perfect set-up, I believed, so during the battle I aimed my magic at the rock formations behind us, weakening them. Then it was only a matter of diverting his attention long enough for you to escape before detonating the lyrium veins at the base of the rocks and following during the chaos.”

“Who got you?” Alistair asked, indicating the slow blood seepage from his right side.

“A desire demon, near the rift. They do not like being laughed at.”

“That’s the fucking truth,” I laughed, and the solemnity of the moment was broken.

“So Gwen told you one of us was definitely going to die?” Alistair clarified.

Solas merely nodded.

“That explains her disappearance that afternoon,” Cullen mused. “I have never seen her so distraught.”

Hellen was shaking her head. “Why won’t she tell _me_ these things?”

“She feared,” Solas answered immediately, “that telling you that you had to enter the Fade would cause you to start looking for opportunities for it, or worse, make you overthink the situation and not use the option when it became necessary. As you can probably guess, she said that she-“

“Could not risk it,” Hellen finished the sentence with him. “Yes, poor woman. So she knows everything we just saw? She’s seen the Fade as we just did?”

Solas merely shrugged. “She has not said as much to me, but I believe so.”

“Wait,” I interrupted. “She has seen _everything we just did_? She’s not a mage, not a warrior, not a templar, not _trained_ for any of this. And didn’t you say her world doesn’t have demons?” Hellen and Cullen nodded. “How is she not batshit crazy?”

“That,” Solas said with a sigh, sitting forward, “is exactly what I intend to find out.”

We spoke for awhile longer, although I admit my contributions became fewer and farther between. Merrill crawled into my lap and tucked her head under my chin, and for me, at least, the horror of the day dissolved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I finished DA:I for the first time, and once I'd picked my jaw up off the floor and became cognizant of thought and feeling once more, my first reaction was to get PISSED. I'd taken Solas into the Fade... couldn't an ELVEN FREAKING GOD have taken on ONE NIGHTMARE DEMON? I was already theorizing that Fen'Harel had created the Veil, which meant Solas had created the Veil, which meant Solas could TOTALLY HAVE SAVED HAWKE AND ALISTAIR.  
> Of course, that would have been a story killer as far as the game was concerned, so I understand why it didn't happen. That didn't stop me from ranting about it for a week or so afterwards.  
> I have other reasons beyond that for making this decision. Very strong story reasons that have very little to do with Hawke and Alistair and a whole awful lot to do with Solas, Gwen, and the decisions that they make.


	19. Interim: Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Gwen

Lace brought us the next missive unopened.

“If it is from Leliana, I will decode it right here,” she said, as Josephine quickly stood and gestured for Lace to sit at her desk. The Ambassador stood beside me and we threaded our fingers together.

The message Lace unrolled brought a smile immediately to her face. “It is from the Inquisitor,” she said.

Josephine breathed a sigh of relief. “So she is well!”

“Her message is for you, Gwen.”

I flinched. “Is she angry?”

“Can’t tell.” She flipped it around on the table so I wasn’t trying to read it upside down.

 

_Gwen,_

_Solas told me of your fears, but only after he made sure all of us came out of the Fade._

_We left no man behind, and will bring everyone to Skyhold so you can see them with your own eyes_.

 

“Oh my god,” I gasped, resorting back to English out of shock. “That clever mother fucker actually pulled it off.”

“Was that a good thing you just said, or a bad one?” Lace laughed.

“A shocked one,” I answered in the language she knew, dropping bonelessly into one of Josephine’s chairs. “I can’t believe… I cannot believe he saved them.”

“There was a new message from the surgeon for you, too,” Lace told me, tossing the tube into my lap. “Hopefully it’s not terrible news.”

“I’m sure it’s not as good as that was,” I replied, feeling a bubble of laughter rise in my belly. “I can’t believe they’re alright.”

Josephine was grinning at me. “I have never seen anyone so happy to be wrong.”

“Nor will you likely ever see it again,” I laughed, and the two of them joined me.

Eleanor’s missive was sobering. The casualties numbered in the hundreds, although the vast majority were relatively minor wounds. There were some three dozen Inquisition fatalities, and another fifty or so serious injuries. The Warden fatalities were notably higher, but she was including their ranks among the injured; I should expect to see Wardens among my patients back at Skyhold. The first cartload of wounded had been sent out shortly after she’d written her last note.

I reported the information to Josephine and Lace, and then stopped off to tell Dagna the injury report so she had an idea of what supplies I was going to be asking for. Then I essentially locked myself in the infirmary, preparing space for the wounded.

I had all beds full and overflow space in tents in the courtyard when the bulk of the army returned, Hellen riding victoriously at its head. Sera fetched me from the infirmary, threatening to carry me if I didn’t go on my own accord. We hadn’t spoken since I had barged into her room and told her why I’d requested Hellen leave her behind, so her appearance in what was essentially my office was surprising.

“Besides, yeh can check in on yer people in tents while yer down there.”

“Fair enough. Jamy, you have Charge until I come back.”

“Yes, ser. Thank you,” she called back, glancing up from the soldier she was assisting out of bed for a trip to the wash room. Cole waved to me from his customary space near the door; he had proven irreplaceable in the past days, able to tell me where people hurt and what was wrong when they weren’t able to tell me themselves.

So far, no one else had died. The last of the injured – the most serious – were coming in with Eleanor a few days after the army, moving at a slower pace. I planned to have Dorian and the Chargers help me convert an as-yet unused floor in the tower our bathroom was in to a temporary infirmary. I told Sera as much as she led me down to the gates.

“If you need a moment to breathe, come find me, yeah?” she said as we neared the bottom of the last staircase. “We should talk, I think. Nothin’ bad, no? Just… talk.”

“I would love a chance to talk with you, Sera,” I assured her, and she gave me an impish sort of grin.

I took three steps across the courtyard before Hellen came around the corner, clearly on her way up to pull me out of the infirmary. She closed the distance and swept me up into a hug almost identical in length and strength to the one I’d gotten when she left.

“Promise kept,” she said happily as she set me down. She left her hands on my shoulder and shook me gently. “I completely understand why you stormed off after meeting Hawke, now. I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry I can do nothing to ease your burden. All I ever do is ask for more out of you…”

I could feel the tears of relief threaten – _she wasn’t mad at me!_ – but I managed a smile nonetheless. “That sounds like there’s a request coming.”

“Solas is hurt, I think it’s pretty bad, and he won’t let anyone see to it but you.”

“That stupid stubborn mother fucker,” I ranted in English, shrugging out of Hellen’s hands and turning towards the gates.

“In his room!” she called, and I broke into a jog, heading in that direction. I got to the top of the stairs leading to the upper courtyard and almost literally ran into Alistair. He caught me and lifted me into the air.

“You wanted us to meet before I _died_ ,” he breathed. “That is the most brilliantly morbid thing I have ever heard.”

“I’m so glad you’re both alright,” I assured him, “but I really ought to-“

“You find her?” Hawke said, striding over. Alistair set me down just long enough for Hawke to sweep me up. “I should be mad you sent me to my death without even the shitty, half-assed warning you gave Alistair, but since we saw how upset you were on the battlements, Merrill says I should forgive you.”

“I did say that!” the petite elven blood mage said happily from just beyond his shoulder.

I returned Hawke’s hug. “I am _so_ glad you’re both okay, but Solas…”

“Oooh, shit, right. Run, Perky, run,” Hawke said, setting me down.

“Perky?” Alistair asked.

I didn’t stay to listen to the explanation, since I had heard Varric’s name for me before. I took the stairs into the main hall two at a time, and charged into the room Solas had claimed for his own.

His shirt was off, and for a moment I was shocked still. There didn’t seem to be a spare ounce of fat on him, and his muscles rippled as he worked to grind the tint he was mixing for the next panel of his great mural. He turned to see who had entered, and the ghastly wound on his right side became visible.

“Solas,” I breathed. “You stubborn son of a-“

“Careful, I would hate to have to tell her of your slander.”

His tone – a clear tease – startled a laugh out of me. “That is infected.”

“As was Lyal’s, I believe. You’ll see it is largely superficial-“

“Your damn ribs are visible, you twit.”

“-as no underlying organs were injured.”

I sighed. “I was in the courtyard when I heard, I didn’t bring anything with me…”

“Oh, I have everything you might require, no worries. I remember your notes. Here, I want to see you dress this wound.”

My hands were shaking. “You… you didn’t treat it, let it fester, so you could use your injury to study my methods?”

“How are you feeling? What are your intentions right now?” he answered.

“You…” I stopped, swallowed, started over. “My intentions….” I took a deep breath to head off the long chain of threats and expletives I sorely wanted to shout at him. My hands were curled in the exact shape they would need to be in to strangle him. “Lay on your desk, it’s a better height.”

I washed my hands in the basin beneath the scaffolding I suspected he slept upon, and when I turned back – a bit calmer – he was laying as instructed, but propped up on one elbow, watching me.

I couldn’t help but laugh, which was likely the point. “You are unbelievable,” I said, shaking my head as I crossed the room.

“Tell me what your thoughts are as you work.”

I sighed, but did as he asked.

“I am upset with you for being hurt. I am upset with you for not being helped. I am upset that you suffered, regardless of how stoic you may be. I am upset that this is _clearly_ infected. Upset isn’t a strong enough word. I am so _angry_ with you… I want to just take you and _shake_ you. I want this dressing, this silver, to work as well for you as it did for Lyal. Better, even, because you mean more to me than Lyal did. Does. Whatever. Although now I’m distracted by wondering if Lyal survived…”

“If you had to guess, if there was no way for you find out and your _best guess_ was your only option, what would you say?”

I scowled at him, but stilled my hands to consider it.

“If I say to myself, _Lyal is dead_ , I feel as if I am lying. If I say, _Lyal is alive_ , I feel more comfortable. But that does not make it reality.”

“Have you ever had thoughts like that before? Thoughts you were uncomfortable with, as they felt like lies?”

My addition of Patrick on my first list of _things I want_ immediately sprang to mind. “Yes,” I admitted.

“What?”

“I do not want to talk about it.”

“Very well, we will table it for now.” He rapped his knuckles on the desk for emphasis.

It made me smile, which was likely his goal.

“Continue, da’len.”

“I worry that my cleaning your wound like this is going to hurt. I don’t want it to, but I think it’s inevitable. I want it to hurt as little as possible. I want to get all the infected tissue out with this first rinse, so your body has less work to do, to fight the infection. I want this silver to kill everything that is left, so your body can heal. I want you to heal. I want very, very badly for this to heal.”

I tugged on Solas’ arm to encourage him to sit up, so I could wrap several layers of linen over the silver dressing I’d applied.

“I want this bandage to be the right tightness. I don’t want it to cut off your circulation, but I don’t want it to fall off, either. And I want you to _leave it alone_ while it’s healing, and not poke at it or scratch it or undress it or _anything_. I want it to look a lot better when I see it. And I want to see it tomorrow, so it needs to get better _fast_.”

I tucked in the last corner of his bandage and stood back, so he could ease off his desk. He tugged his tunic back on over the bandages, and I helped guide it over the knot. He worked his arm a bit before nodding. “Thank you, da’len. A most enlightening experience.”

I rolled my eyes in response. “If I have not seen you by dinner time tomorrow, I need you to come find me.”

“Believe me, I am most interested in our findings. I will not hide from you.”

Any other response I might have made was lost when Hellen strode into the room, Dorian hard on her heels.

“Better?” she asked Solas. The elf merely nodded as he pulled his tunic back over his head.

“I have something for you,” she said. “And I want to give it to you before you disappear back into the infirmary.”

“Alright,” I said slowly. Hellen pulled a thin flask out of a pocket in her long leather coat and handed it to me. It glowed blue.

“What is this?”

“When I was in the Fade,” she answered, “I met a spirit who may or may not have been Divine Justinia. I don’t want to start this argument over again, Dorian.” His teeth snapped shut and he grinned at me instead. “ _Anyways_. This spirit helped me gather up the memories I lost when I was last in the Fade, when the Conclave was destroyed.”

“I know,” I reminded her gently.

“These memories were left over. I could not pick them up. She told me they were not mine, that they had been left there for me to gather up and deliver.”

My heart started pounding from its new home in my shoes.

“She did not explicitly say they were _yours_ , but I cannot imagine who else they could belong to. If you open the flask and can’t absorb it, we will keep looking and I will be very sorry for getting your hopes up.”

I nodded, staring at the glowing blue glass. It didn’t seem like there was any _liquid_ in it, just that the glass itself was glowing, like a cold neon light. She handed it to me with a pained sort of reticence.

“What, here? Now?”

Dorian and Hellen both nodded as Solas answered, “If this is going to hurt you, da’len, better it not happen when you are alone. We are here to catch you, help you if need be.”

I took a steadying breath. “I don’t think I’m ready for this.”

“You will never be ready for this,” Hellen said grimly.

“Will it hurt?”

She nodded. “But not a physical pain. You will suddenly remember the feelings of the moment, and you will relive it all in a heartbeat.”

“It sounds unpleasant.”

She nodded again.

I swallowed, grasped the cork, and pulled. I tipped the flask towards myself reflexively, as if _liquid thought_ obeyed principles of physics. The light seemed to flow directly into my face. I decided I didn’t like the utter lack of sensation – if I closed my eyes, I wouldn’t even know it was happening. I halfway expected there to be a _warmth_ or a _tingle_ or _something_ …  The last of the blue light streamed out of the glass, which fell out of my suddenly numb fingers to shatter on the floor. The world went sapphire, and I suddenly understood the reluctant regret on Hellen’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it comes! Are you ready for the explanation? Flashback chapter is next!


	20. Interim: Friday, September 25, 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Gwen

“Emily! Myles! On the bus, let’s go!”

The two platinum-blond siblings – we would have called them Irish twins in my family – raced past me and up the steep steps of the battered yellow bus. PLYMOUTH COUNTY SCHOOLS was etched prominently on the side, the letters blurred as the bus pulled away from the curb and rumbled down the block.

I wearily arched my back into a stretch and headed back into the building.

The school nurse position I had taken on had shifted in the past weeks. I had started out with the summer school day program in July, kept on for August, and then transitioned into the after-school program once Labor Day passed and school started. I was pulling down overnights at the hospital for the pay differential, and the hours were starting to catch up to me.

“It will be worth it,” I reminded myself aloud as I wandered down the sweltering hallway in a building utterly lacking in air conditioning. Patrick’s parents both had a horrible prognosis, and my extra hours were paying for the best care available. They would get better, or they wouldn’t, but either way we would be able to look back without regret.

As if summoned, my phone rang. It was in the side pocket of my scrubs – bright blue pants under a snowy white top, in honor of today’s perfect autumnal sky – and I slid it out with a smile as I recognized the ringtone I had set for my husband of eight years.

“Why, hello there,” I drawled into the receiver as the connection opened.

“Hot damn, I didn’t think I would actually catch you. I planned to leave a voicemail for you to get later.”

“I could hang up if you like. You could call back and I-“

“Don’t you dare.”

I laughed happily, some of the weariness slipping from my shoulders. “What’s up?”

“I am headed out to the car, and I’ll be on my way home soon. I wanted to tell you to expect our usual Thai food order when you got home.”

“Fantastic.”

“I was planning to whisper filthy things into your voicemail, as well…”

He chuckled darkly as I caught my breath. We’d met during my second year of college, and married nearly three years later; after over a decade together, this was the sort of shit that kept the fires going. “Should I stop off for a bottle of wine?”

“Already handled. Will you be headed home soon?”

“I just put the last of the munchkins on the bus. I have to finish up all the weekly paperwork, and get next week’s set up… maybe another hour and a half or two hours before I can get out of here?”

“Ooh, so it’s a _race_ ,” he laughed. “Last one home has to pick up the Pad Thai.”

“It’s a deal,” I agreed happily.

“I love you,” he told me.

“I love you too,” I replied, and we both hung up.

We had agreed a very long time ago to never say goodbye.

I settled at my desk in one of the few climate controlled rooms in the school, the luxury granted to help me keep any medicine the children needed at a stable temperature. After ten minutes spent staring blankly at the veritable mountain of paperwork, I scooped it all into a folder, stuffed it in my shoulder bag, and headed for the door. I had the next 36 hours off; I could do the paperwork at my kitchen table over a cup of coffee the next morning and no one would be the wiser.

I pulled into the detached garage at our barely-lived-in split-level with an open grin. I’d beaten Patrick home, and my reward was pajamas and a glass of wine while I waited for him to come home with dinner. I texted him my victory from the bathroom, as a last act before slipping into the shower.

The worries of the week sloughed off under the stream of hot water. My mind skipped ahead to sitting on the couch with Patrick, our feet on the ottoman, ignoring whatever random rom-com was on the television, sharing a bottle of wine and talking about everything except the slow descent of his father into Alzheimer’s dementia or his mother’s largely unsuccessful battle with cancer. Escapism was holding us together at this point. Beside our nightly couch date to stay connected, we had largely retreated into pastimes designed to distract: Patrick was painting another army of miniatures for the war game he played, and I was sinking an unhealthy number of hours into Dragon Age.

There were worse things to spend our money on.

The weather had broken while I was in the shower; a storm had crept up on my shore side town and dropped the temperature 15 degrees. The curtain over the bathroom window fluttered in the wind, causing a chain reaction of goosebumps and full-body shivers as I raced to snap it shut.

I slipped on a matching cami-and-panties set, wrapping my robe around me before glancing at my phone – no answer from Patrick – before getting to work on stripping water from my hair.

My hair was braided and dangling down my back before I looked at my phone again. I still didn’t have a text back, even though he was notorious for using the quasi-AI on his phone to send texts via voice commands while he was driving. I took a closer look at my phone and noticed I had no signal.

“Damn thing,” I muttered, flipping it around to do a soft reset. I left it on the counter as I waited for it to reboot and meandered to the kitchen in my robe to pull the paper plates out of the cabinet and the corkscrew from the drawer. I was digging around for chopsticks when I heard the faint chime of my phone in the other room and returned to the bathroom to check for Patrick’s reply.

Still no signal, I saw, frowning. The chime had been a notification of an error rather than a message from Patrick; my email app couldn’t connect to the server. It was likely the storm interfering with signal, although that hadn’t happened at our house before. We were situated between Boston and Cape Cod; with both the city and the tourists paying for the networks, the phone companies had a vested interest in keeping the lines open. I wondered if the sudden storm had taken out a cell tower. I wasn’t connected to our household WiFi, either, and a quick check showed that none of my neighbors’ networks were up... so the problem went deeper than just a cell tower.

Wandering around in my robe had given me a thorough chill, so I pulled on a pair of jeans and one of Patrick’s old button-downs before padding barefoot to the side door. From there I could hear the generator running, even through the pouring rain. I couldn’t see any of my neighbors from our house in the summer – the foliage was too thick – and it was too early still for street lights, so I couldn’t tell how extensive the power outage was without getting in the car and driving around.

Sitting on a shelf over that door was our collection of flashlights, a list of emergency contacts, and the weather radio; I grabbed it and headed back into the kitchen. The radio had a hand-crank, so I set my cell phone on the table and watched it as I charged the radio, hoping the signal would turn back on. It didn’t.

My arm got sore – the best sign that I’d cranked for long enough – and I flipped the radio on. It was supposed to be set to the weather station, but all I got was static. I settled into a chair and started slowly spinning the tuner, listening carefully for a signal. I didn’t know whether a storm could interfere with a radio signal, but it seemed unlikely. When I reached the end of the tuner dial for the second time and started back in the other direction, a sick sense of dread settled into the pit of my stomach: it was starting to seem like something was terribly wrong.

I heard a flash of a man’s voice through the static, and I focused on it, barely nudging the tuner as I searched for the signal. It took several minutes, but I finally positioned it so I got more than one word out of three, and I started piecing together the message. What I heard was not the weather.

_“…evidence of a nuclear detonation… (static) …has claimed responsibility, although (crackle) has not yet verified… (static) …multiple bombs across the eastern seaboard… (static) …-adelphia, New York, and Boston are all being considered total losses. To repeat, there are seventeen confirmed bombs, and likely many more unconfirmed; these “dirty” bombs, with nuclear material, have been set off along the east coast as a massive act of terror... (static)..._

Memories of 9/11 swirled to life, the two wars that Patrick had been called to serve in always fresh in my mind.

But Boston – Boston was _gone_ , a complete loss. And if it was nuclear…? There was no way I could outrun the fallout, not with New York and Boston between me and the majority of the continent. Only Cape Cod and the Gulf of Maine lay in the opposite direction, and neither of those would stay safe for long.

I sat staring at the radio in shock for several long minutes before adrenaline kicked me into gear. _Crisis mode_ , Patrick had always called it; he insisted my cool head in stressful situations was one of the main reasons he had married me.

It was definitely the reason I thrived as an Emergency Department nurse; I’d worked in a level-3 trauma center for five years.

“Shoes!” I announced to the empty house as I turned off the radio, getting up from the chair and launching out of the kitchen. “Socks!” I grabbed a pair of thin wool athletic socks off the top of the clean clothes basket on my way to the closet. I hesitated for half a minute on which shoes to grab. “They’ll all get wet, better get the ones that will dry the fastest,” I muttered aloud, snagging my newest pair of chuck taylors and balancing on one foot at a time to tug them on. There was one of Patrick’s zippered hoodies hanging on the closet door, and I grabbed it on my way out.

There was a path through the house that Patrick had me practice taking; clothes in the bedroom, meds in the bathroom, perishables in the kitchen, and an eye open the entire time for easy-to-snag extras. My nursing bag was sitting in the corner by the bedroom door, and I scooped it up on my way into the bathroom. Patrick had several prescriptions, and I grabbed the unopened bottles from the cabinet in addition to the opened bottles on the counter; he would have at least a 30-day supply. I dropped them into the red leather bag containing my stethoscope, pulse oximeter, gloves, and other assorted odds-and-ends I needed at work. There was an extensive first aid kit in the bug-out bag, so I didn’t bother with anything else in the bathroom. My purse sat on the kitchen table, and I turned my cell phone off and tucked it inside before swinging the bag over my shoulder. There was almost no food in the house – I was planning to go grocery shopping the next day – so I only stopped int he kitchen long enough to drop everything I was carrying into a shopping bag before doing a lap through the house, checking doors and windows. I grasped the handle of the radio and dragged it off the table on my way by without slowing. In all, it had been turned off less than five minutes when I grabbed it, dropped it on the top of the supplies in the shopping bag, and dashed out the house. I shut and locked the side door behind me and paused for only a moment before plunging into the rain.

I dashed from the house to the garage, head partially covered by my hoodie and the shopping bag held aloft. I tried to leap the puddle that always formed on the walkway but misjudged, and managed instead to completely soak my shoes. I shouldered into the garage and headed straight for the corner where Patrick kept the bug-out bag. He checked it on the first day of every month, planning against days like today. _Hypervigilance_ , they called it, a symptom of PTSD. I had never been grateful for it before now. “I will never give him shit about his obsession with this damn bag again,” I told the silent radio as I checked the tag he kept on the straps: it had been last checked on the first of September, and not opened since then. I could save time and just take it – or I could spend three minutes and double check.

I could practically hear Patrick’s voice. I double-checked, grimacing at the dampness of my jeans where they pressed against my knees on the dusty floor.

When the last box was checked on the list, I tucked everything from the shopping bag inside and sealed the bug-out bag. It was a heavy blue water-proof duffel that Patrick had used when he was in the military. I hefted it and turned to put it in the back of the SUV-

-and remembered that Patrick had taken it to Boston that morning. My high-efficiency sedan was sitting on the far side of the two-car garage. We had always agreed that in case of emergency, we’d take the car with all-wheel-drive.

I stopped moving for the first time since I’d stood up from the kitchen table.

Should I wait for Patrick? Cell signal was dead, we wouldn’t be able to meet on the road. I couldn’t try to meet him on the highway, he might have taken a back road to avoid congestion. I couldn’t try to meet him on the alternate route, either, as he might have been forced onto the highway by a road closure or detour. Arguably, I should bunker down until he got home.

Should I pack the car? It didn’t feel right to just _sit_ there, not when I knew there was fallout heading my way. For New York and Boston to both be losses, the only way to escape radiation would be by sea. We kept my father-in-law’s boat at the harbor in Plymouth; Patrick would want to take our chances with the ocean in the storm. We could both take hefty doses of iodine and stay close to shore until we got closer to Boston, and then risk heavier seas to skirt around the city and make a run for Maine – or maybe Canada.

I ran back into the house for passports, further soaking myself in the rain, and then found myself standing still in the garage again, stuck.

What if Patrick hadn’t been far enough from the city when the explosions started?

What if he was trapped somewhere on the highway?

How long would I wait?

Was it already too late? Should I board up the windows and shelter in place? Hope the rain would keep the fallout to a minimum? Hope that I was in a safe spot, that I was far enough away from the major metropolitan centers to avoid a lethal dose of radiation?

I felt my shoulders slump. Patrick was supposed to be home. If one of us wasn’t home, the plan was we either sheltered in place or take the bug-out bag and launch a rescue. If I was at work, Patrick was supposed to come get me. If we were driving to or from work, we would wait until the commuter was home.

But we both had less than twenty minutes to commute to and from work; we hadn’t discussed the possibility of one of us driving back from Boston at the moment an emergency struck.

I should leave. I should head for the boat and trust Patrick would meet me there.

The idea of leaving the house, of trying to drive to the harbor without him, was distasteful to the point of paralysis.

“None of that is relevant,” a feminine voice said behind me.

I spun around, startled so badly I stumbled sideways. “Who-“

There was a woman in my garage. She was classically beautiful, if far too thin to be healthy. Her hair, where it peeked out from under a flowing white scarf, was thick and blond. Her eyes were a liquid sort of brown, with fine lines crinkling at the corners that gave an air of benevolent wisdom to a face surely no older than mine. She was barefoot and clean…

...far too clean, given the pouring rain and inevitable mud outside. There wasn’t a spot of dirt or rain on her strange white robes and a notable absence of water on the floor beneath her. I thought for a second there was a speck of mud on her ankle, but a second look showed it was just a mole.

“Who the hell are you?” There were four more questions piled up in line behind it, but I made myself wait until she had a chance to respond.

 “You would not believe me if I told you.”

“How the fuck did you get in here?” I asked, deciding to ignore her first answer.

“That will be made clear in a moment.”

“What did you mean…? _What_ isn’t relevant?”

“Your concerns, your planning. It is far too late for any of the things weighing on your mind. Your husband is not coming for you, but even were he here right now, the poison in the air has already spread. Regardless of which vehicle you took, or whether you could meet him, the boat is compromised. The power plants were targeted, you are surrounded. You have no escape.”

The nuclear plant on the coast was just a few miles from the harbor where we kept the boat. “How…” my throat was too dry to speak, I had to pause and swallow before I could try again. “How could you possibly know that?”

“He was too close to the first explosion, he is not coming for you. If you look closely at your reticence, you will find you already know your husband is lost.”

She was right. There was absolutely no logical reason to believe her, but I did. I knew – _knew_ – Patrick was already dead. I had known since his text was delayed, somewhere deep in my gut.

“His last thoughts are of you.”

I swallowed back the lump in my throat. “How did you-“

“That is yet another question that, in the end, will serve neither of us,” she interrupted. “So let us save the argument. If you stay here, you will die. There is nothing for you here, even if you were to survive. Your world is dying. But there is somewhere you can go – somewhere I can take you – where you will find purpose.”

“Purpose? I have-“

“Had,” she reminded gently.

It was a punch to my stomach. It didn’t matter which direction the wind was blowing; there was radiation blocking all my routes of escape. All of my education, my years of experience in the hospital, would be useless in the middle of a cloud of fallout. Patrick, his parents, my patients… they were already lost. The ruins of the eastern seaboard sat between myself and my own family in the Midwest. I was alone, and facing a slow and terrible death.

And even if I were to, somehow, survive – if the rain miraculously kept the radiation away from me, and I got to the boat and escaped – my world was irrevocably changed. I didn’t know how much radiation it would take to cause a nuclear winter, but I bet the American retaliation would just about cover it. Mutually Assured Destruction had not died with the end of the Cold War, and we were the type of society that would _take them out with us_.

I looked up to meet her unwavering gaze. I could see, somehow, the millions of possibilities laid out ahead of me, every choice I could make in the coming days. The best-case scenario seemed to be a massive dose of iodine to get me through the worst of the radiation and a harrowing journey into the city to drop to my knees beside Patrick’s mangled body. I shuddered and turned away from the image.

“Your world is ending,” she told me, her voice impossibly gentle, “and I have need for you. I have watched your world for decades, grooming it to produce those who could help me, help others. It has given me you, and not a moment too soon.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Sometimes, child,” she said, reaching out to take my hand. “Sometimes, the demons win.”

With my left hand hopelessly tangled in the straps of the bug-out bag, I reached out to lay my right palm in hers. The blue light suffused me, and I immediately felt calmer.

“Where am I going?”

“You will not believe me; you must see for yourself.”

It was the same thing she had been telling me: I would not believe her, the argument was a waste of time, I had to see for myself… anything other than a simple truth. I was still humming with adrenaline, hovering on the edge of crisis mode, and the withholding of information was infuriating. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath while I considered my options.

There was no way to survive this. Between the storms and the radiation and the chaos, my escape routes were next to worthless. I had no way to contact my family, no way to reach Patrick, and no way to save myself. Even if I discounted everything she had told me, my odds of making it out of this were practically zero. I had literally nothing to lose by trusting her.

“I have no other choice,” I told her. I opened my eyes to find her smiling sadly at me.

“You are passing through a realm you will not understand,” she said as she drew me closer to her, twining our fingers together. My right hand started to tingle. “The fear in you, the sorrow, the guilt and the rage will attract creatures that may harm you. In order to send you safely, I must strip you of your memories.”

“What?” I tried to pull my hand away, but it was caught fast. “No! I need- I cannot forget- he was my _husband_.”

“You misunderstand,” her voice sounded apologetic. “Only the last few hours need be forgotten, although the months before may seem indistinct. I will leave these memories where you can find them later. Furthermore, I will send you someplace where you will be embraced, so that these memories do not destroy you when you reclaim them.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means,” she said, pulling me against her chest to press a kiss to my forehead that caused blue light to explode all around us and blind me, “that sometimes, the demons win. They won here, today. But they do not _always_ win. And they will not best you, in the end, dearest child.”

Then she was gone, and there was air beneath my feet. The world turned electric blue, and then a sickly green that seemed familiar, somehow. The air grew thick and warm, then ice cold, and then everything was electric blue again before fading into wavering torchlight and stone walls. The bag flew out of my left hand and bounced against a stone pillar, tumbling into a shadowed recess beneath a statue. I lost sight of it as flagstones rose quickly to meet me, and the world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU is really AU: Gwen's world is not our own.


	21. Interim: The Agony of Remembrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Cullen Stanton Rutherford

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank most of the people who left comments on the previous two chapters, for establishing "screaming" as a valid response. I rather agree with you.

I had my right foot on the last step of the stairs leading to the main hall’s large double doors when I heard it.

I had heard it before, of course. Somehow, impossibly, it was the precise same; the ten-plus years had done nothing to dull the memory. Even the roundness of Solas’ chamber helped refine the sound, channeling the echoes in the precise same way as the Harrowing Chamber at Kinloch.

The sound of a person screaming with their whole body, their _soul_ , as opposed to only their throat, is a sound one does not forget.

I had heard it again in Kirkwall, when Orsino changed. There was something about seeing an abomination – or being forced into becoming one – that evoked that particular scream.

I had my sword drawn before I crossed the threshold into the hall.

The surge of adrenaline was almost as good as a dose of lyrium. My headache vaporized, the tremble in my hand steadied, my thoughts slowed.

There must have been people between me and the entrance to Solas’ chamber, but either they moved out of my way or I found my way through them; I did not see them.

My only conscious thought was a prayer:

_Please, Maker, let it not be Hellen who is possessed. Let it be **anyone** else. We need Hellen. We are lost without Hellen. _

I burst through the door expecting to see carnage; I expected the evidence of blood magic and the remains of allies.

The scene that greeted me was nothing I could have anticipated.

Hellen was facing me, over the bent head of a woman on her knees.

There were people staring down over the railing from the library; I got a vague impression of more people on the balcony above _that_ , staring down from the rookery. I risked a long enough glance up to see Vivienne shoulder-to-shoulder with Fiona on one level, Leliana directly above them on the next; only their shocked faces were visible.

Hellen was flanked by Dorian and Solas, and _shock_ was the common denominator. Everyone was staring at the woman on her knees, frozen in disbelief.

It was the kneeling woman who was screaming. The sound was being torn from her throat, pouring out like blood from a wound. She shook with it, her hands had curled into claws and were hovering in the air above her shoulders, as if poised to pluck the eyes from her head.

She threw her head back, then, letting her long brown hair tumble down her spine, and I realized who it was.

_Gwen_ was screaming as if her soul had been shattered.

The guilt crashed into me as I realized my prayer had been answered: _it was not Hellen_ , and Gwen was definitely _anybody else_. The Inquisition could not survive without Hellen… but could Hellen survive without Gwen?

I was not sure I could. Or if I wanted to.

I sheathed my sword immediately and crossed the room to her, taking hold of her wrists just as her fingertips were coming to rest on her eyelids. She was clearly not in her right mind, possessed by some terrible image. I glanced up at Hellen to see the Herald’s wide eyes damp with unshed tears; the reaction was nearly as unsettling as Gwen’s. Solas had long ago confided to me – on the road to Skyhold in the days after Haven was lost - that some aspect of her world made Gwen immune to demonic possession, and I clung to that knowledge as I gently pulled her hands away from her eyes. Her scream died as she had to draw in a breath – a big one, for the next scream, it seemed – and I took the opportunity to question Hellen.

“What happened?”

She blinked at me – once, twice – before seeming to come back to herself and actually _see me_.

“Her memory-“ Hellen began to answer, but she was cut off by Gwen’s next scream.

The tone of the sound was changing. It had been horror when I first heard it, the perfect horror only produced (I had thought) by demons. The sound she was making now had an air of anguish to it – of loss so profound as to be incomprehensible.

I pressed on her wrists, encouraged her to keep her hands away from her eyes. Hellen had carried a flask back to Skyhold with us – a glowing blue glass of what she had called memory. That she had recovered her own memories in the Fade was by now common knowledge. The physical form of memory was not something I was prepared to consider, and I had shied away from it in favor of processing the greater events of the siege at Adamant. The memory she had carried, it seemed, had been Gwen’s.

As her scream faded, ending in a jagged note like a death knell, Hellen took advantage of the sudden silence.

“Her world is gone. Destroyed in some sudden war. Her husband… everyone, everything. It’s all gone. Even if she could… she has nothing to go back to.”

As if the words cut open a new wound, Gwen arched her back, aimed her face at the ceiling and screamed again, in pure agony.

“We’ve got to get her out of here. The war room; it is sound proof.” I called through her wail.

Hellen nodded, and I knelt briefly to scoop up our stricken Seeress.

A path opened through the crowd assembled in the main hall, and I strode as quickly as I could manage across the vast chamber to the hallway beyond. Josephine was standing in the doorway - likely drawn out by the screams – and she held the door open for me to enter. Gwen was collapsing in on herself, curling into a ball with her hands twisted in her hair and her eyes clenched shut.

I heard Hellen on my heels, and her voice rang out as Gwen’s scream raggedly tapered off again. “Solas! Bring what potions you have. Whatever you think might help! Vivienne, assist him!”

The door swung shut behind me just as Gwen caught her breath and another scream was ripped from her throat. They were becoming more haggard, more rough and gravelly as she shredded her vocal cords. If she could not be calmed, she would be screaming silence soon.

The war room door boomed shut behind us, and I imagined the way the rest of the keep would hear the scream be suddenly cut off. She was drawing in another breath when Solas was whisked into the room by Josephine, who in turn was dragging in a chair from her office. She gestured for me to sit, and I twisted Gwen so that she was resting against one arm of the chair, freeing me to work on untangling her hands from her hair. She was tugging, oblivious to her self and surroundings, and I feared she would start pulling it out by the handful.

“Here, it is a balm for her throat.” Solas said, holding forward a flask.

“A _balm_?” Hellen hissed. “She needs a sedative!”

“She would not thank you for sealing her in sleep, not with this memory overwhelming her.”

While Hellen spluttered protestations, Solas knelt at Gwen’s head, waiting for her to finish inhaling, and then dribbled a small amount of the thick fluid into her mouth. She choked on her scream, and it seemed to draw her away from oblivion, if only minutely.

“No,” she muttered, flinging her arms to try to free her hands from me. “No, let me die. They're all dead, let me _die_.”

“Drink, da’len,” Solas replied, putting the flask to her mouth.

Maybe she thought it poison, but she fell silent and drank readily. Her cheeks reddened, and I could immediately hear the difference in her soothed throat. Her next words, though, were in her native tongue. She had a fluidity when she spoke – _English_ , she insisted it was called – that gave it an almost musical tone. Her voice was sweet enough to make even Qunlat sound lyrical.

Hellen responded rapidly in kind, the two of them speaking progressively faster and faster. Hellen took Solas’ place at Gwen’s head, and the elf moved to stand behind the chair I was seated in.

“She is pleading for death. Hellen, as you can likely imagine, is arguing against it. She is not in her right mind, only half awake and tortured by what she has seen.”

“What has she seen?” I prodded. I decided to leave the revelation that _Solas understands Qunlat_ for another time.

Solas sighed. “As you know, the Inquisitor has retrieved Gwen’s lost memories, brought them out of the Fade on behalf of a spirit of your Divine. When Gwen took them… we were all thrown into the memory with her, much as we were thrown into Hellen’s memories in the Fade. But in the waking world it was… far more intense. We were all Gwen, for mere moments, although it felt like hours. We thought as she did, saw what she saw, and spent enough time in her world to understand its loss.”

“Hellen said something similar… What do you mean, its loss? What has happened?”

“There was an… attack,” Solas said, keeping one ear turned to Hellen and Gwen’s continuously accelerating argument. “It will probably be best if she can explain it, as she understands the nature of the attack better. But it was made clear that this sort of weapon kills the land exposed to it, much like the Blight has left vast stretches of land sterile. She was separated from her husband, and informed of his inevitable death, as well as the guaranteed eventuality of her own, before being offered escape to Thedas. She was yet in shock from learning of the attack when she was brought here, and the memory was stripped from her to facilitate her travel. She is faced with not only the death of her husband, but of her friends and family, everyone she has ever known, as well as the destruction of her home and the likely extermination of life on her planet in something called a _nuclear winter_.”

I felt the horror settle in my chest. Before I could phrase a response – before I could _fathom_ a response – Hellen grabbed Gwen’s shoulders and barked an eight-word sentence that silenced Gwen with a rough sob and startled an angry hiss out of Solas.

Hellen shook her again, more gently this time, and made a two-word demand.

Gwen nodded, said what sounded like _yes_ , and then started to cry.

“That was unkind, Inquisitor,” Solas disapproved.

“I would rather apologize to her tomorrow than bury her tonight,” Hellen answered roughly.

“What just happened?” I asked, as the two apostates gazed at each other with varying degrees of anger and sorrow.

“Gwen believes she abandoned her world, like a _rat leaving a sinking ship_ , to quote her in only so many words. She believes she should have stayed with it, to die with her people, with her husband. Apparently, her wedding vows were _until death parts us_ , which is awfully grim for a marriage ceremony, I think.”

“Cut to the chase, Hellen,” I prompted, realizing a bit belatedly that I was speaking from between gritted teeth. I worked to relax my jaw.

“She was suicidal. I told her…” Hellen glanced at Solas and sighed before admitting, “I told her she should not leave us as she left them.”

“ _Hellen_ ,” I could not hide the dismay from my tone.

“I made her promise me, and she _did_ ,” she continued on, defensively. “It was cruel, I know, but I would rather she be alive to hate me.”

Neither Solas nor I had an argument for that stance, although Gwen – who had apparently remembered Common – did.

“I could never hate you,” she whispered brokenly. “Please don’t think that I…”

“Shhhh,” I found myself whispering, briefly resting my cheek against her head. “Have no fear of our opinions. You need rest, to recover from the shock.”

“Do not leave me alone,” she pleaded. “I cannot be alone.”

“You are never alone,” Hellen answered, reaching down to smooth Gwen’s hair out of her face.

“We are here, da’len,” Solas assured her.

“We will watch over your rest,” I breathed into her hair.

She reached up with one hand and wrapped her fingers around the neck of my breastplate. Her knuckles were icy where they brushed against my throat, and I found myself pulling her deeper against my chest, as if there was any warmth to be conferred through the silverite and steel. She quickly stilled, her breath evening and her features relaxing.

Hellen helped Josephine drag in two more chairs, and the two mages created a loose triangle on either side of me; a circle of protection to guard Gwen’s sleep.

“Can you find her dream like you did mine?” Hellen asked Solas when they had settled.

The elf shook his head. “She does not travel the Fade as do you or I. Were we to enter the Fade right now and place ourselves somehow into this very room, we would find her asleep much as she is now, curled up in the Commander’s arms.”

I felt myself color helplessly at the description. I could not help but admit – to myself, silently, of course – that I had often imagined her thus, but under wildly different circumstances. Neither Hellen nor Solas seemed to pay me any mind.

“She exists in the Fade in precisely the same spot she exists in the waking world. She forces a kind of consistency onto the Fade wherever she is, and the Fade responds by swirling violently around her. She is a fixed point in a mutable realm, and it resists with deadly force. She is much like the center of a whirlpool or a hurricane; nothing can approach her, not safely.”

“How does she dream?” Hellen asked. I found myself wondering the same, and was relieved the Inquisitor did not know.

“She dreams, I believe, strictly within the confines of her own mind. It is that trait which convinced me that she was not of our world, when I first studied her in Haven. I could find her in the Fade, but not approach her. She would appear in the room she slept in – impossibly, as she had never been awake to see it – and her form would be sleeping in the precise same place and position as her physical body. Yet, clearly, she dreamed; her eyes moved rapidly beneath her eyelids and she would speak and twitch while she slumbered. It is unlike anything I have ever seen.”

“But she is connected to the Fade?” I asked, keeping my voice pitched low so as not to disturb the topic of our conversation.

Solas nodded. “More strongly than I could first believe. Awake, she yet moves within it. It is almost as if her waking mind casts a shadow across the Fade; wherever she strides, it follows.”

“And you could not wake her, when you found her there?” I could not help but ask; I had never found myself in a conversation like this before, a discussion of the Fade with a mage so adept at its workings. It made me feel as if I had completely missed the point of the Harrowings I had stood guard over; like something profound had passed beneath me and I had never before grasped its magnitude, an unseen leviathan beneath a row boat.

“I am just a Dreamer,” Solas demurred. “I do not walk the Fade in the flesh. The experience at Adamant has made real for all of us, I believe, the difference between dreams and actually entering the Fade. I could not approach Gwen and awaken her, as I was only there in a dream myself. Could I merge my dream with hers, then perhaps I could rouse the part of her mind that normally travels the Fade in slumber, but there is no dream to find.”

“I always believed,” I said slowly, being sure of my words before I spoke them, “that we either lightly touched the Fade when we dreamed, or not at all… the Tranquil and the dwarves have no connection to the Fade, and so they do not dream. You are saying she is strongly connected to the Fade, and yet does not go there when she dreams?”

Solas nodded. “Precisely so. She is utterly unique. Thus my reticence to employ a sleeping draught; I could not approach her in the Fade and help her find peace. She is truly trapped within her mind when she slumbers, with no opportunity for escape.”

“Have you spoken to her about this at all?” Hellen asked.

“No. I told the Commander as soon as I was sure she was incapable of being possessed, as I thought he could best use that knowledge to protect her, should anything unfortunate come to pass. I have not had an opportunity to discuss it with her directly; she requested my assistance in determining why her healing arts were so profoundly effective, so she knows something is amiss. My injury, here, will be the precipitating factor in that conversation, I believe. I will try to tell her then of her unique connection with the Fade. As an aside, she is likely immune to the effects of illusions and mind control, since she seems to exist in both realms simultaneously. A spell against her mind would, similarly, need to be cast in both realms, a feat only Hellen could even attempt, since only she can enter the Fade at will.”

“And I have no desire to test this theory,” a bit of heat came into her words, and Solas nodded his acceptance of her statement. It seemed to mollify her.

“I suspect she will be more willing to explore her place in this world, now that she has learned, with a brutal finality, that she has no escape from it. I will not force the matter, however. It may be some time before she has recovered from this shock.”

Gwen shifted in her sleep, and we fell silent until she settled.

“Keep talking,” she murmured against the fur of my pauldrons. “’s’nice.”

“We’re going to be stuck telling stories at this rate,” Hellen grumbled. “Solas, tell us things you’ve seen in the Fade.”

It was, apparently, a topic Hellen frequently raised with the elven mage. I had never heard him speak so much, but his face softened as he delved into memories, and I wrapped my arms a bit tighter around the sleeping Gwen as I settled in to listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The two sentences Hellen said to Gwen as she shook her:  
> "Do not leave us as you left them."  
> "Promise me."


	22. Interim: Coming To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Gwen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With another art! Another amazing art by [dissatisfied_doodles](http://dissatisfied-doodles.tumblr.com/)  
> of Gwen in a Tarot card. This one is The Moon, by my personal request, and it's un-freaking-believable.  
> 

I was not asleep.

I wasn’t sure I was ever going to sleep again. I had looked into her eyes and seen myself clutching Patrick’s twisted corpse, keening my sorrow at the rafters as the building slowly collapsed around me.

There was no _unseeing_ that. That was the best future I could have cobbled together from the cards I was dealt, the future intended for me: dead at the ripe old age of 30, childless, unburied, likely unremembered. If my civilization even survived the aftermath – unlikely, given how she’d said _this world is ending_ – I would be one of the innumerable, nameless victims memorialized on a block of stone in the ruined wasteland where Boston once stood.

I think the worst was that I had _known_ , all this time. The memory was gone, but my soul had clung to the shock of Patrick’s death. The knowledge that I would never see him again had been percolating in my neurons, festering behind a glowing blue wall called _forget_.

In the countless images I had seen in her eyes, I knew Patrick’s parents had been granted the mercy of a quick death, being so close to ground zero as to have probably not even heard the blast before they died. If it had reached my ears, the sound would have been lost in the rumble of thunder and the roar of the water from my shower.

I was numb. It was a blessing, after the searing agony of remembrance. But sleep was impossible, not with Patrick’s blistered flesh leaping to mind every time I let my thoughts drift. I closed my eyes, concentrated on darkness, and listened.

Solas was talking about me, about how he couldn’t find me in the Fade, about how I was a whirlwind in his dreams. I absorbed it all with a kind of detached bemusement. It was the least of my concerns, at this point.

Cullen shifted his position slightly, drawing me closer against his chest, and I risked cracking my eyes open. My vision was obscured by the fluttering fur of his pauldrons, but I could just make out Solas and Hellen sitting comfortably at angles to the Commander and I, engaged in what might have been an idle chat. I closed my eyes, hoping no one would notice I was awake, and settled into Cullen’s embrace. I heard the conversation pause.

“Keep talking,” I told them, not having to force the slurred drowsiness into my tone. “It's nice.”

Hellen bade Solas tell stories of the Fade, and I was free to listen or not, as I chose. Sleep was still not an option, but the continuous drone of Solas’ narration, interspersed with questions or comments from Hellen, made a pleasant backdrop to oblivion. Cullen asked a question then, his voice vibrating his breast plate against my ear, and it brought to mind a completely different voice altogether. The woman who had brought me here – I hesitated, yet, to think that she _saved me_ – had confused me badly with her words, but upon retrieving the memory, they were clear.

“ _I will send you someplace where you will be embraced, so that these memories do not destroy you when you reclaim them._ ”

I was definitely being embraced. I had been a widow five months, but _known_ it less than five hours, and here I was wrapped up in the arms of another man, one I was a damned fool if I thought I wasn’t already head-over-heels for.

If I’d had any fucks left to give, I might have been embarrassed. Instead, I filed the sensation away, to be considered when my emotional and mental capacity to care had again risen above _zero_.

Solas was talking about a great concert hall he had seen – likely, a great concert hall he had once been a patron of – and rather than comment sarcastically, I began to make mental lists.

Things that I needed to do before Eleanor arrived with the most critically wounded.

Things that I needed to talk to people about before Halamshiral.

Things I needed to do for the patients who were already in Skyhold.

Things I needed, desperately, to forget.

I wished, with more passion than I had ever wanted anything before, that Cole was able to make me forget.

He’d already tried – and failed – but maybe with my memories back, he could selectively edit them: a _line item veto_ for my neurons. If there was _one thing_ I wanted to live without, it was the image of Patrick lying dead in my arms...

Even if that image – while it wasn’t even _real_ – did the most to convince me he was truly gone.

I could rebel against it, of course. I could dig my heels in and insist _the memory wasn’t real_ , that she had implanted it all in my head for some sinister purpose. But what could I gain from that? There was no going home, regardless of whether there was anything to go home to. And, besides, she’d brought me _here_ , dropped me in the Inquisitor’s lap. If she had meant me ill, she could have left me to die, or given me to Corypheus or even  _Samson_ for fuck’s sake. Dropping me naked into Therinfall would have been sufficiently terrible.

“Who was she?” I asked out loud.

It was in a rare moment of silence, else I would have immediately apologized for interrupting.

“Who?” Cullen murmured, mouth near to my ear.

“The woman,” I said. “The woman who sent me here. Who was she?”

I opened my eyes to see Hellen shaking her head. “I do not know,” she told me. “I, too, cannot say,” Solas confessed.

It was _not_ the same thing, but neither Hellen nor Cullen seemed to have picked up on it. Solas knew – but either  _could not_ or _would not_ tell me.

“I’ve seen her somewhere,” I said, allowing the words to come without consciously forming them. “Somewhere… here. Recently, I’m sure. I’d never seen her before, then, but I’ve seen her somewhere else, since.”

“One of the mages Hellen brought in from Redcliffe?” Cullen suggested.

Hellen shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. We can ask Fiona; she saw the memory, and she knows every mage who followed her here.” The Inquisitor shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Besides, the stripping of memory? The tearing open a portal _through_ the Fade into our world? Opening the Breach cost Corypheus a massive expenditure of energy, and that woman did something far harder, one handed, without fluttering her eyelashes. That was… that was no mere mage, Cullen.”

It was another thought to be sifted through, and I set it aside as such. If Fiona had been brought into the memory in the library, then likely _everybody_ in the library had seen it, as well. Had the top floor been drawn in? Had Leliana borne witness to my personal hell? And if it extended that far up, had it extended out, as well? Were all the visiting nobles in the main hall witnesses? How public was my horror?

How many people had been given that single, horrible image of Patrick? Would I see it in the eyes of strangers in the hall?

“You’re not really asleep, are you?” Cullen asked, what might have been seconds or hours later.

I cracked my eyes open and risked another glance around. Hellen and Solas were tipped back in their chairs, eyes closed and chests moving in silent synchrony.

“No,” I admitted, as quietly as I could.

“They’re looking for your dream,” he told me, with a tip of his chin to indicate the sleeping apostates in the room. “Failing that, they’re looking for _each other’s_ dream, although Maker only knows why. I suppose they have things to discuss that I should not hear?”

I shrugged. I had no answer for him.

“How are you feeling?” he asked after an extended pause.

“Numb,” I answered immediately. “I had a scab torn off a wound I did not know I had suffered, to find it necrotic and gangrenous beneath. The initial pain was…” I shook my head. I had no words in _either_ language for the agony of remembrance.

“I cannot imagine,” Cullen breathed, his arms pulling me, impossibly, closer to him. His breast plate had warmed between us and I traced the exquisite detailing while waiting for one of us to speak.

I had so little control over my voice at this point, I would have told him the secrets of the Joining and the disposition of the elvhen gods, if he had only known to ask.

“I had meant to thank you,” he said a moment later. “The last thing you told me, before we left… _No matter what, do not lose faith_. From my position outside Adamant, I could see Hellen and Clarel face the dragon, watched Hellen and her team fall. When she disappeared, I thought our cause lost, thought Corypheus had won in that moment. We pulled all the reserves into Adamant, then, to try to find and recover Hellen. We couldn’t risk the enemy getting her body, the anchor… But your voice, Gwen. Your voice stopped my fear in its tracks. You told me not to lose faith, to trust my allies; I couldn’t imagine you would have foreseen Hellen’s fall and still given me those words. You’d told Hellen to give you the same hug _when she came back_ , so I knew… I knew you were telling me everything was alright.”

“I was. I knew you would be devastated when she fell… it was the only thing I could think to tell you that would help you but not risk Hellen’s hearing too much.”

“Because of course you know exactly what I needed to hear.” he breathed a laugh, and I could feel the beginnings of a smile almost make it to my face. My emotions were still dampened by shock, though, and the smile died long before it began.

“When I heard…” he trailed off, swallowing thickly before making another attempt. “I was on the stairs when you… got your memory back. I did not see what Hellen and Solas saw, but I heard…” He took a slow breath, and I heard it rattle in his throat, a tremble he could not hide. “I have heard screams like that before. I thought one of our mages had become possessed, and I-“

Here, then, was something that could make me _feel_. I sat up in his arms. “No,” I breathed.

“I prayed for it to not be Hellen. I did not want to have to… not Hellen. I actually prayed that it would be anyone _but_ Hellen… But to turn the corner and realize it was _you.._.”

“Cullen, I am _so sorry_ ,” I gasped, feeling the tears well up and spill over. “Maker, that must have been _terrible_ for you.”

“What?” He leaned back a bit, his arms tensing to draw me away from his face. “No! Gwen, _do not apologize to me_. Not after everything. That’s not why I-“

But whatever else he had to say was lost as the dam broke.

There was something about my grief forcing Cullen to relive Kinloch – even if for only a moment – that made everything else unbearable.

The sorrow welled up from some deeply set spring, overwhelming all of my senses. The tears I had been steadily leaking the last months were mere hints of this, of the aquifer lurking below.

Patrick. My parents. _His_ parents. My home. My clients. The children. Sweet blessed Mother, all the _children_. My nephew. My beautiful, cherubic, innocent nephew.

I could cling to Cullen in agony. I could press against his armor and be protected from the unbearable pain of unfathomable loss. I could cower in his lap as I numbly floated in a sea of apathy.

But I could _not_ cry for my lost lands, my lost _husband,_ in his embrace. I pushed away, blinded by a wet curtain of salt.

“No, Commander, let her go,” a soft voice said, just over my ear, as I fought to free myself from his arms. “You have done what you can; this is my cue.”

“Dorian,” I gasped, recognizing the hint of an accent.

His arms were under mine, helping me stand, and then I just kept going up, until my legs were wrapped around his waist, my arms clinging to his shoulders, and my head buried in his neck. He locked his arms under my hips and carried me like an overgrown child out of the war room and away.

I didn’t know where we were going. I didn’t care. I didn’t care who saw me, if anyone was even awake. I just knew Dorian had me, and if there was one person in Thedas I was comfortable crying on, it was Dorian Pavus.


	23. Interim: Reforging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Gwen

I awoke in my own room, many hours past daylight. I had a vague recollection of Dorian sitting on my bed, my head in his lap, combing out the worst of the tangles in my hair with his fingers and endless patience. How he had risen once I’d fallen asleep was beyond me, but the simple fact that I had slept told me I owed the Tevinter more than I could repay.

I did not awake alone, however.

Vivienne de Fer sat at my desk.

“I am glad to see you have slept,” she said. Avoiding _good morning_ was probably a solid decision.

“I… yes. Me too, thank you. What are you…?”

“Hellen left this morning, and is already some distance down the road. She took lady Cassandra with her, as well as the Vint and the abomination. She spoke only of an urgent errand.”

“Oh. Thank you for telling me.”

“I did not come down here as a messenger, my dear. You are to spend the next few days with me, in the sunshine, and not down here in this hole, no matter how warm it is.” She paused and her curiosity got the better of her. ”Why _is_ it so warm?”

“The kitchens,” I answered, gesturing at the exterior wall. “I share this wall with the ovens.”

“Brilliant,” she cooed. “Your insistence on cowering down here is suddenly far more reasonable. However, reasonable or not, it will be suspended for the immediate future. Come, you need a good soak, new clothes, and a hot cup of tea; and not necessarily in that order.”

Vivienne rose gracefully from the desk chair and swept towards the door.

I did not move.

She stopped in the doorway, poised to move on, before backing up a step with a sigh.

“I have earned this, I suppose. Your mistrust of me is warranted. We have never exchanged words before, much less pleasantries. You have no reason to believe I mean you well, and I must own that.”

“I do not think you mean me ill,” I carefully amended her statement, but letting the rest of it stand.

“Thank you for that glowing vote of confidence,” she sighed. “Be that as it may, you have been dealt a loss, a crippling one. If you would rather cower in the bowels of the keep and accumulate the _pity_ of the residents of Skyhold, by all means stay here. If you would prefer to escape endless sympathy and regain your sense of humanity and purpose, then pull yourself together, my dear, and come with me. No one will dare approach you with condescension if you stand beside me.”

It was perhaps the closest Vivienne would likely ever come to admitting she was literally repulsive, in that people actively sought to avoid the space she occupied. Had I not avoided asking her about alchemy for that very reason? Staying near Vivienne, I would be able to avoid the pity of the collective Inquisition, and I found that I wanted that badly. I could avoid seeing the memory of Patrick's corpse in the eyes of the nobility in the main hall, perhaps never even have it confirmed that they had been witness to my loss.

I stood. “I have clean clothes.”

“I did not say _clean_ clothes,” she chided me gently as she swept from the room, this time drawing me along in her undertow. “I said _new_ clothes. How you survive with the pittance Josephine scraped together for you is beyond me, if impressive.”

Did I really need new clothes? My wardrobe was, admittedly, _much_ smaller than I had been used to back home, but I was beginning to understand how much of a wasteful American I had really been.

If there was one trait from my world that need not be brought through to this one, it was the culture of waste.

“I have multiple sets of my uniform, so it appears I have fewer clothes than I actually do,” I told her, seeking a compromise. “But another dress or two for when I’m not working would not be bad.”

“Dress _or two_ ,” Vivienne laughed. “You must not know me half as well as advertised.”

I followed her out of the lower levels, keeping my eyes on her back and avoiding contact with the swirling crowds of the main hall. She led me straight to the loft she kept over the doors, pressing me onto one of the couches and handing me a hot cup of tea, a book, and a neatly folded pile of handkerchiefs.

“If you don’t like the book, dear, there’s four more on the floor. I brought you a selection.”

The seemed to all be novels, and none I hadt come across before now. The covers on three of them were pristine, the pages crisp as if they had never been read. The other two were heavily creased and, I noticed in a moment of alarm, contained the stains of more than a few teardrops in their pages.

“I suspect sabotage,” I said, holding up the book to show her the small water marks on one page.

She smiled. “It is only to keep you distracted until the hall clears and the seamstress arrives, dear.”

 

*

 

The seamstress was set to arrive the next day, it seemed, and in the meantime I had a couch on Vivienne’s loft, as much tea as I could drink, and the encouragement to ask whatever questions I needed to about the cultural references inescapable in novels. In my head I equated it to Vivienne trying to read Pride and Prejudice in my world; she would need to have explained references to geography, religion, and the different periods of English history as determined by the standing royalty, and that was just to get _started_.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that the reading was easy. It was almost as if I’d gotten fluency in Common when I’d gotten my memories back; maybe the mysterious blond had put a drop or two of literacy in the bottle for Hellen to bring me. Whatever the reason, I no longer felt like I was translating the Common language into English; I was just reading it, and the meaning simply existed. I felt like I could have read the novels aloud in English with no difficulty, translating it in my head as I went. In a little thought experiment, I went looking for words in my memory that I could not translate, and the only ones I found were the ones that simply didn’t exist in Thedas, things like _automobile_ and _European_.

The stacks of books served the purpose Vivienne had intended: it distracted me utterly from the problem at hand. From time to time, thoughts of Patrick, or my family, or some place I have visited or lived would swim out of my subconscious. As soon as the emotion started to well up to meet it, I dove back into a story of Orlesian chivalry or Ferelden barbarism. These were _Vivienne’s_ books, after all.

The thoughts I took special care to avoid were the ones that most damaged my calm: the knowledge contained in the two expansions that had been stripped from me along with the memory of how I even _got here_. Descent and Trespasser both contained the kind of information that would rock the world if widely known, and I hadn’t quite rearranged my own world view to accommodate them. The bigger question was: what exactly did everyone else see when they were sucked into my memory with me? Did they only see the day I was brought to Thedas, or did they see everything I got back? Did they get a glance at the future?

Did Solas know that I knew that he intended to tear down the Veil and potentially destroy the world as we knew it?

I would rather cry over Patrick than worry about Solas. I willfully smothered anything aside from the books in front of me and the coming seamstress.

When she arrived, the seamstress took my measurements and then pulled out a pallet and carefully mixed powdered tints until she had recreated the color of my hair and eyes, as well as the tone of my skin. She colored in the appropriate places on a quick sketch of my body – the same place she had recorded my measurements – and promised the first of my new dresses would be sent out from Val Royeaux within the month.

“And we’re just going to trust her judgment?” I asked Vivienne as the motherly woman packed up and left after spending less than an hour in Skyhold.

“With our lives, my dear,” she replied without a _drop_ of sarcasm.

After my meeting with the seamstress, I drummed up the courage to ask Vivienne about alchemy, and after a few disinterested questions – in which I proved I had read the five tomes recommended to all beginners – she acquiesced to discuss her art with me.

It became one of only two topics we discussed for _three solid days,_ by the end of which I had notes on improving the pain draught Solas had taught me to make, as well as possible combinations that might serve to treat anxiety, insomnia, and inflammation. It was a definite start. More importantly, I had Vivienne’s warm assertion that I was welcome to come to her with questions _any time_ , and that she would personally look into solutions for high blood pressure and a Thedosian equivalent of aspirin.

The second topic, surprisingly, was a painfully in-depth inspection of my mental health.

“You are not well, my dear,” she said, and her voice rang with such sincerity that I couldn’t help but listen. “You have not _been_ well once since you arrived. Your efforts to stay afloat are admirable, but the time has come to repair the ship rather than continue bailing.”

“What do you mean?” I asked her quietly.

“You could write a book on denial,” she answered archly. “You insisted you were _dreaming_ for the entirety of the first month you spent with us. A full month, darling. Did you let yourself think of Patrick even once in that time?”

She didn’t mean it to hurt. That it did was because it was true. “I did,” I insisted. “But not nearly as much as I should have. Mostly it was me hoping he was coping without me, or my telling Hellen what I thought he might be doing. But then, you’re right, I immediately put him out of my mind.”

“And your parents?”

I closed my eyes against the sting of shame, merely shaking my head.

Vivienne sighed. “Oh, child.”

It was brutal, but I knew she was right, and I followed her lead. Vivienne worked with the precision of a surgeon, but her care didn’t make the cuts any less painful.  She examined my guilt, my horrible coping mechanisms, my seeming inability to think about things that upset me. She spent most of one evening dissecting my weakly fought battle against my own emotions. She lauded my ability to use reason in a time of crisis, and bent her will upon teaching me when to turn my emotions back on. What was most helpful about the entire process was that we never delved much into the situation itself, but rather my actions and reactions. I did very little talking about what had happened and expended endless words on how I’d suppressed it.

I was left with the knowledge that I hadn’t ever really dealt with _anything_ , and now that I was in a safer, saner place, my work could actually begin. I still wasn’t comfortable with anything that happened, but for the first time I thought it possible that I might be able to _get_ comfortable, that maybe I wasn’t completely broken.

When Leliana’s messenger interrupted us with news of Eleanor’s caravan appearing at the top of the pass, I left Vivienne’s loft with her blessing – the first time I would be on my own since I had woken up to find her in my room – but as I went I paused, laying a hand atop hers on the railing of the balcony.

“I don’t know if you have learned of it yet or not, but the snowy wyvern is in the Exalted Plains. Please do not wait too long. And if you want… I would be willing to assess Bastien for diseases known in my world, and help you in your quest to save him. There might be other options beyond the one with the wyvern heart; options from my world that might work here.”

Her breath caught. “I had not- By the Maker. Thank you, my dear.”

I nodded. I had never seen Vivienne manage to save Bastien, but I was hoping that I could give her enough of a boost to give her a fighting chance.

If Solas could save everyone in the Fade and still have Hellen emerge battered and enraged, maybe changing things wouldn’t weaken her overmuch. Maybe Bastien surviving wouldn’t hurt anything in the end.

Maybe I really could save them all.

It was a thought for another day.

For the first time, _another day_ was just that: a promise for tomorrow.


	24. Interim: Judgment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Gwen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured I would wait until AFTER Aelie's baby shower to post this one. Forgive me!

We did not lose any more soldiers. From the time Hellen closed the final rift in Adamant until the last of the wounded was released from the infirmary in Skyhold, the death toll did not rise.

It was a near thing, admittedly. Eleanor had done what she could to stabilize the most critically wounded, but there was only so much that could be done in a field hospital, _especially_ in what was essentially a medieval setting. She brought me mangled limbs, shattered bones, visible visera; but she _got them to me_. Only a few months before, many of these men would have died in the field. Already, I was making a difference in Thedosian medicine. With a clenched jaw and the sort of emotional detachment I used to pray for, I set to work.

I had carefully boiled all of the fine surgical instruments I had commissioned Dagna to create for Eleanor and her fellow surgeons, and then sealed them in boiled linens inside oiled parchment, in an attempt to keep them as sterile as possible. There were no latex gloves, of course, but my surgeons all allowed their hands to be checked for cuts or sores and each one committed to a _thorough_ scrub before trying to patch these men back together.

I was assisting Stitches –  trusting Eleanor and Jamy to work independently – when the door to the infirmary swung open and Hellen Adaar strode in.

“Let me help,” she pleaded, crossing to my side.

“Oh _fuck yes_ ,” I cheered. “There, Mal… shit. Malcolm? Is that what you said your name was?”

The swarthy Ferelden – who surely had some Antivan hidden in his family tree – nodded stiffly. He had taken a fireball to the abdomen, and the superheated metal of his cuirass had inflected terrible burns cross his gut. His musculature was wrecked, and in places the flesh had peeled back to reveal loopy tendrils of intestine. They were, blessedly, still contained beneath a paper-thin peritoneal membrane, but it was likely the only thing keeping him alive.

“He’s top priority. He needs some skin on his abdomen."

“He needs… Oh, Maker’s Breath,” she gasped, lifting the tented bandage that had been set over the site while we worked on the others. I hadn’t decided yet what I could actually do to help him, but my budding spirit healer Herald was his best option.

“Hold on, soldier,” she gritted. It was everything I could do to keep my eyes on my own hands as Hellen sealed up Malcolm’s wound. I was able to glance over a moment later to see Hellen’s forehead beaded with sweat and Malcolm’s abdomen once again intact.

“Take ten or fifteen minutes, rest. I’ll have something else for you here shortly.”

Stitches was grimly plucking shrapnel – predominantly wood, but some bits of steel and stone – out of the back of a grim-faced elf who told me to call him Tilden. They’d been hot when they went in – another fireball, _fuck that dragon_ – so the wounds were mostly cauterized. Pulling the shrapnel out was reopening them, but Tilden had been the first recipient of one of my new painkilling potions, and he was too busy telling me a story about the time he met his first dwarf to focus much on the gruesome work happening on his back.

Eleanor suddenly called “I’m in,” and I leaned back to talk to her. We were back-to-back on adjacent beds, and with very little effort we could almost put our mouths to each other’s ears.

It required a stool for me or a slouch from her, but we made it work.

“Shattered,” she confirmed. Without an x-ray, and with the swelling too high to be able to palpate the injury, she’d need to cut through the mangled leg down to the bones of the knee to see what the damage was.

“You’re going to need Hellen,” I directed, and Eleanor nodded.

“My lady Herald, if I may,” the surgeon started, but I interrupted.

“Adaar! You’re up!” I barked.

Hellen hopped up and darted to our side. “Can you try to put his… her… fuck, Eleanor, who is that?”

“Myrtle!” the Orlesian with the shattered knee chirped. She’d also gotten one of my painkillers. She had a simple bedsheet-and-scrap-wood shield preventing her from seeing the wreckage of her knee as Eleanor cleaned the mangled joint.

“Wonderful, pleased to meet you, Myrtle.”

“Charmed!”

“Right. Hellen, can you try to pull Myrtle’s knee back together?”

“Back together?” Myrtle asked.

“Like me and Eleanor here, with our backs together,” I laughed, rubbing my rump against the surgeon, causing Myrtle to giggle.

“You’re something else,” Stitches said, shaking his head. “I think that’s the last of it.”

“Ooh, that feels _cold_ ,” Myrtle squealed.

“Okay, wash up and move down the line. I’ll get all these holes dressed.”

“Holes?” Tilden asked. “What do you mean, holes?”

“We got all the shrapnel out of your back, Tilden! Isn’t that great?”

“Oh! Yeah, thanks!”

We worked through the room that way. Hellen rested, waiting for Eleanor or myself to determine the need for healing beyond what we could provide. While Anders, or Wynne, or Solona Amell could have healed everyone in the room with an offhand gesture, Hellen was new to her craft.

I intended to build her up easy. When we’d seen to it all fourteen new arrivals were reduced from critical cases to just people in need of some rest and time to recuperate, Hellen went back through to do what she could on the less seriously injured. She double-checked Tilden’s back to make sure all the shrapnel was indeed gone (it was), and she healed a broken arm Jamy and I had set several days prior.

“You are heaven sent,” I told Hellen as we were washing up and taking a moment to breathe.

Hellen snorted. “You know better.”

“Your undignified arrival in the Inquisition notwithstanding, _you_ are heaven sent,” I clarified.

She echoed her exasperated chuff of sound. “My statement stands.”

“You definitely got home at the exact right time. Where did you go, anyways?”

“About that,” she said, drying her hands and turning to me. I was still diligently scraping blood off my arms. “You’re not going to like this, and I’m sorry, but it’s for your own good as much as it will be good for the Inquisition.”

“Hoooo boy. This is where I tell you that I trust you and then I brace for impact.”

“Right again. I need you to meet me in the main hall in about an hour. Put on a clean tunic.”

“Main hall? Are you judging me?”

“In a sense, I suppose. But don’t worry, you’re not in any trouble,”

It was my turn to snort. “That will look great as an epitaph.”

“Good to see you laughing, Gwennie,” she said, and then slapped my ass on her way out the door.

I had to think for a minute before I realized I had been smiling. I had worked so hard to keep our patients from panicking that I had somehow convinced myself to be calm, as well.

Eleanor had given high praise to a healer named Edmun who had been with her at Adamant, and I gave him Charge of the infirmary while I was gone. There was already a schedule set for round-the-clock staffing, so all I had to do was give him the lead and then head off to change.

My hair was a mess, and I had managed to get blood on every article of clothing I was wearing, so I stripped down to nothing and put on a completely new uniform. I had acquired a soft pair of shoes to wear around the keep on nice days – from Vivienne, who else – and I slipped those on rather than attempt to scrub the blood splatter off my boots. I would attend to that after I escaped whatever shitshow Hellen had planned for me.

It was hard to judge when an hour had passed, so I just went upstairs when I felt like I looked presentable.

There was a hell of a crowd.

I made my way through to where Hellen was sitting – resplendent in sapphire robes – on the Andrastian throne of the Inquisition.

She could see me through the crowd despite the fact that I was apparently _the shortest human in Thedas_. She had the benefit of height _and_ positioning, added with her having been watching for me to arrive out of the side passage.

“Gwendolyn Murray, Chief of the Skyhold Infirmary and Seeress to the Inquisition, please come forward,” Josephine called at Hellen’s gesture.

Cullen and Cassandra were standing at either end of the dais, Josephine off to Hellen’s right, and Leliana equidistant on the left. I met the Commander’s eyes, and he raised one eyebrow just enough to be noticeable and gave me the slightest movement of his shoulders – he had no idea what was going on.

I approached the throne, feeling my heart rising into my throat despite Hellen’s assertions that I was in no trouble.

When I was standing a few paces from the edge of the dais – and well away from the front edge of the crowd – I dipped a curtsy to Hellen. “Inquisitor?”

“As has become common knowledge, in addition to retrieving my own missing memories from the Fade, I was gifted _your_ missing memories from the Spirit of Divine Justinia. It was revealed to you – and everyone within the walls in which you stood – that your world had been lost, and you had been rescued from the wreckage and sent to my side in the hour of our need. Such a thing is hard to believe in the best of times, and the Inquisition is beset by foes. It is my duty to protect us, first and foremost, from threats both foreign and domestic. Rather than take this memory at face value, I chose to immediately set out and acquire independent evidence of its veracity. This action should be taken when _any_ spirit of the Fade offers gifts, and is not a reflection on the trust you have earned.  Your actions at Haven saved countless lives, and your tireless work in the infirmary has saved numerous more; for that alone, regardless of the memory you shared, you will always be honored by the Inquisition.”

“Independent evidence, my lady Inquisitor?” I asked, helpless to steady the quaver in my voice.

I heard footsteps and a soft _thump_ on the floor behind me, and a few audible gasps that soon became a sea of whispers.

I did not turn around.

“In your memory, you packed a blue bag-“ Hellen said, and my knees gave out. As I dropped to the floor, hands pressed against my collarbones to keep my heart from pounding its way out of my throat, Cullen took a half-step forward; Leliana hissed something that brought him up short. “That bag was seen to come through the portal with you. If it could be found, it would serve to prove the images the spirit sent with me out of the Fade. In addition to the strange, inexplicable clothing you wore when you were found, made of materials that the Arcanist confirms are impossible to produce in Thedas, the bag was discovered precisely where the memory suggested it should have been, under a statue in the throne room in Redcliffe. It is also of a material unseen before in this world.”

Hellen stood from the throne, towering over everyone in attendance. “I can find no flaw in either story; neither the one you told upon awakening from your injuries in Haven, nor the one presented by the memories recovered from the Fade. I hereby Judge you _honest_. Gwendolyn Murray, you are _exactly_ what you say.”

Cole was suddenly at my side, although no one else had moved. He dragged the bag around so it was in front of me, and with a soft hand against my cheek vanished again.

With shaking hands, I unclipped the plastic clasps that held the waterproof material together and started unfolding the top flap.

“You don’t have to do that here, Gwen,” Hellen told me gently.

I knew there were tears streaming down my face again, but I could not stop. I flipped over the last fold, pulled open the rubber seal, and immediately thrust my arm into the bag. At the top of the pile was my bag of nursing gear, and I shoved that aside to reach below it for my purse. My trembling fingers gripped canvas, and I spun the object around until I found the leather shoulder strap and grasped it to remove it from the bug-out bag. I let the rest of the bag sag to the floor, and I flipped my purse open to find my cell phone, tugging the flat metallic rectangle out and then dropping my purse to the floor beside me.

Heedless of my surroundings, I flipped it end-over-end, scarcely believing what I was seeing. It was intact. I pressed the power button and the screen immediately lit up. No signal, of course; I waited for it to boot up and then flipped through the menus, quickly turning on airplane mode, turning off vibrate and turning up the volume. The battery was still practically full. I had voicemail saved, and my whole body was shaking as I pulled up the oldest one and pressed play.

My brother’s voice suddenly graced the silent main hall of Skyhold. In the background hovered the faint wail of a newborn.

“I don’t know if you can hear, but that’s your nephew. He entered the world at 2130 this evening, 6 pounds, 14 ounces, 19 inches long. He and his mother are well and…” His voice cracked. “…and I can’t wait for you come home and meet him. I love you. Call me whenever, I mean it.”

The thin mewl of his newborn son wove through his words, and continued on for a moment before the message ended.

I crushed the phone to my chest and heard the keening wail long before I realized I was the one creating it.

Hellen was on the floor beside me, her long arms dragging me into a crushing embrace to rock me slowly as I sobbed brokenly onto the flagstones of the hall.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “Maker save you, Gwen, I am so sorry.” She repeated it over and over, her voice almost as broken as I felt.

I slowly pulled myself together enough to look around. No one had moved. If anything, more people had come. The room was packed to capacity. They could not have known what my brother was saying – English speakers were still a rarity – but the sound of a man’s voice when he becomes a father, the mewling wail of a newborn; these were universal experiences. They might not have known who the man was, but they knew – _knew_ – that I mourned him and his child both. I no longer saw pity in the eyes of the men and women of the Inquisition.

I saw everything else: love, acceptance, sadness, rage, and more than one person completely overwhelmed with grief.

Hellen had given me a gift; a terrible, costly gift. I was no longer the Seer, the Offworlder, the Stranger.

I was one of _them_ , now.

 

*

 

I don’t know how long we sat on the flagstones.

I showed Hellen how my phone worked, speaking softly in English, using words that knew no Common equivalent. The space between us and the onlookers slowly vanished, until the crowd swirled around me, everybody taking a turn to get a glimpse into the world of my memory.

I had dozens of little videos saved, none of them more than a minute long, and I played them all, one by one.

My nephew learning to walk.

My nephew, sick with an ear infection and far beyond tired, giggling as I _booped_ his nose.

My best friend and I, the night of her bachelorette, drunkenly confessing to a fictional love affair that was more laughter than words.

Patrick and I, on the balcony of our suite on a cruise ship, slowly drifting through Glacier Bay.

Patrick asleep in a hammock on our honeymoon.

And a slowly spinning video I’d taken trying to capture the incredible interior of a Prussian palace.

I swiped through my photos, showing Hellen everyone I had ever loved. I had pictures of my wedding dress, now nearly nine years old. I had seemingly endless photos of my nephew, and one professional picture of my nursing class, the day we graduated, wearing our white coats over dresses and heels, stethoscopes on our necks, pins on our lapels, and a bouquet of roses apiece.

I turned the phone off to save the battery, and took everything out of the bag, one at a time, laying it in a pile on the floor, naming it in English and then – if I could – Common.

Slowly, Hellen helped me repack it, and we laid my cell on the very top before slowly sealing the bag.

“Can we keep this in your room?” I asked her in English.

“I know just the place to hide it. Come on,” she answered in kind. She stood from the floor and offered me her hand. I took it and let her draw me to my feet, and then she lifted the bag and placed it gingerly in my arms. The crowd split apart for us, sealing up again behind us, a moving bubble all the way to the door of Hellen’s tower. She held open the door for me, and I passed out of the eerie silence of the hall. I expected an explosion of noise when the door closed behind us, but I didn’t hear so much as one scuffled footstep.

The door to Hellen’s room was open at the top of the winding stairs, and Leliana was waiting for us in the middle of the room.

There was a heavy chest at her feet, empty and open, and tears standing in her eyes.

“You saw,” I ventured.

She nodded her head. “Your world… your loss… that was exactly the future I fought to prevent with Solona. You are living my single greatest fear.”

I laid the waterproofed bag into the chest and stepped to the side, so I was facing Leliana. She swallowed roughly and lifted her chin, ready for whatever censure I could give her. She had never trusted me, never accepted me… not until I was lying broken at her feet.

I closed the distance between us and wrapped my arms around her. With a surprised sob, she hugged me back fiercely. We stood there for quite some time, holding each other up. “You did what you had to,” I whispered, and her arms tightened around me. “Thank you,” she breathed.

“You’re killing me,” Cassandra said from the door. Leliana started to laugh, and I turned away to face the Seeker.

“Come on in, hugs for everybody,” I laughed through the tears.

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Josephine’s voice ghosted up from the stairs.

It was the five of us sitting around the fire for the rest of the afternoon, passing around bottle after bottle of fine red wine. They plucked the pain away one memory at a time, like picking grapes from a vine.

Sometime around sunset, other faces started appearing over the banister. Sera brought cookies. Vivienne brought a _lot_ more wine. Blackwall had carved more of the sticks I liked for my hair, although intricately covered with symbols of the Inquisition and lacquered a glossy white to match my tunics. Bull brought Varric, Dorian, and enough food for an army. Cole was just suddenly there, his shoulder pressed against my knee, sitting on the floor beside my chair. Alistair had a wheel of cheese that ended up pairing quite nicely with Vivienne’s wine. Merrill and Hawke had nothing but infectious smiles, but it was more than enough. Solas and Cullen were the last to arrive, and they both came bearing books; Solas had dug up some of the more technical books on medicine and alchemy, while Cullen had ransacked his personal library for every _happy_ story he could find. He brought up his favorites and promised there were more where these came from.

Every one of them got a hug from me.

They all had a different photo they wanted to ask about, or an item in the bag that provoked a question or comment. Cassandra brought herself to tears when she talked about the video of my nephew laughing, which opened the door to the hardest question of them all.

Josephine was sitting on a chaise beside Hellen, and in a brief moment of silence, asked, “The very first thing we heard, the voices you produced in the main hall. What exactly was being said?”

I had to swallow twice before I could bring up the words. “It was the message my brother left me when his son was born. I was at work, and could not answer his call. He said he didn’t know if I could hear my nephew crying, but that he’d been born that night. He gave me the time, weight, and length. And then he… he said he loved me, and he wanted me to come home and meet his son. He ended by telling me to call him _whenever_ , because he knew I’d be at work until very late, and I wouldn’t want to call and disturb him. It was more important for him to hear from me than it was for him to sleep.”

“You were close. With your brother,” Cassandra said.

I met her eyes as I nodded. “He is… he was six years old when I was born. I always looked up to him.”

I didn’t need to say anything else. She nodded slowly, and the conversation moved on.

The silences between questions got shorter, and the questions became easier to answer. Nobody tried to ask me about their own futures, the knowledge I bore of Thedas and Corypheus. And it was never said, but it seemed to be understood that after tonight, nobody would ask me about my own world again.

We held a Memorial Service for the Earth that night, and it ended with me setting the blue bag back into the chest and closing the heavy lid. Leliana produced two keys.

“This lock cannot be picked.” She shot a look at Sera. “ _Well_. It could only be picked by maybe a handful of people, but most of them are in this room.”

“We’re missing, who? Zevran? Isabela?”

“Isabela is the worst lockpick,” Varric laughed. “Oh, the stories I could tell…”

Leliana was nodding. “Zevran has no equal. Sera and some of the other Jennies run a hot competition for a distant second place. I, on the other hand, _made_ this lock, which Zev will recognize if he ever happens upon it. It has only two keys, and they cannot be copied. You can have them both, but I recommend giving the second key away for safekeeping. Don’t do it now… wait awhile, so not even _we_ know who has the other key.”

I nodded, watched as Leliana showed me – and everyone else – how the mechanism worked. Then she handed me both keys on a silver chain. I took them with my left hand – my right hand once again holding a bottle of wine that was being passed – and heard the metallic _clink_ as they came in contact with my wedding ring. After looking at it for a moment, I passed the wine on to free up my hand, and reached down and tugged the ring off, threading it on the chain with the keys.

“I need to go talk to Dagna,” I announced to absolutely no one in particular.

“Don’t do anything rash, love,” Dorian warned.

I mustered up a sad smile for him. “I can think of no gesture more symbolic than _Dagna_ repurposing my wedding band.”

“Make sure she knows she has no budget,” Hellen asserted.

I nodded. “Thanks, everyone. Just… Thank you. Vivienne?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Am I allowed back in my room?”

That earned me a chorus of laughter, and Vivienne graced me with her rare smile. “Only if you want to go. I will always have a second couch for you.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, and then passed silently out of the quiet room.

The stairs down were empty.

The main hall bore no occupants except for the slowly patrolling guard, and even they stopped and stood at attention as I passed in front of the throne and then down into the undercroft.


	25. Interim: The Inner Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Hellen Adaar

I would have sat on the flagstones and held her all night, if she’d needed it.

So much of what I’ve done has been _what was needed_ , and this was no different.

The Inquisition needed to see her as a _human_ , regardless of where she was born or what she had seen.

She needed the Inquisition to accept her, to become a new family to fill the terrible void left by the one she lost. There is no one and nothing that can replace the life Gwen mourns; I wouldn’t dream of suggesting it. But a new family can serve the same purpose as the old, and I had to give it to her.

Even if I broke her in the process.

Nothing could have prepared me for the sound of that baby’s cry. I would rather have heard her screaming in agony again than hear the keening wail when she finally accepted that her brother and her nephew were dead.

She’d come to grips about Patrick long ago, I think, whether she knew it or not. She _saw_ his death – Maker, we all did – and even if she couldn’t remember, her heart did. I was probably the only person who wasn’t surprised when she pulled off her wedding band and went in search of Dagna.

We waited until she was gone, long gone, and then as one returned to the fire.

“Who do you think she’s giving the other key to?” Varric asked.

“Cullen,” Dorian and I said at the same time as Josephine and Leliana.

Cullen was unmoved. “Dorian or Hellen, more likely,” he argued. “The chest is in Hellen’s room, and she is nothing if not reasonable.”

Varric gestured at Cullen. “Curly’s got a point. Perky decides things with her head, not her heart.”

“Cullen is the worst liar of any of us,” Leliana contended. “And the least likely to let curiosity get the best of him and sneak up here to open it.”

“I would absolutely succumb to temptation,” Dorian admitted.

“Ditto!” Sera laughed.

“I would open it if I thought something in the chest would serve the Inquisition.” I confessed. “Which, of course, all of it could.”

“She needs a better suite,” Vivienne spoke up, surprising us all. “She has no space for the bare essentials, much less a chest of otherworldly treasures or a lady’s wardrobe.”

“She asked for that room,” Blackwall spoke up in her defense. “She scouted the whole keep and then asked for _that exact room_. Demanded it, if I remember the story right.”

“You do,” Bull agreed. “She has a washroom to herself and she shares a wall with the kitchen. That’s everything she wanted when she arrived: privacy, cleanliness, and warmth.”

“Space of her own, away from the impossible,” Cole quoted softly, and I felt the pang of guilt that always came with Cole’s reading someone’s thoughts. It got worse the longer he kept on, but this time it might be necessary. “Warm, dark, quiet; space to remember, space to forget. That was then. Now is different. Sunlight for power, space for friends for love for proof of life. Cannot lose another life, another world, another family, another love. Plants and glass and memory.”

“Can we do that?” Dorian asked. “Could we find her a better room without it feeling like an intervention?”

“I can pull the plans we drew up when we first got to Skyhold and see if a suitable space cannot be found,” Cullen offered. “Someplace close to the infirmary is more likely to be used. She sleeps in the infirmary when she has patients, rather than go back down to her rooms.”

I counted five quickly hidden smiles at Cullen’s observation of Gwen’s sleeping habits, followed by a suggestion she take a room _closer to his_. Josephine and I had spoken more than once about the seeming hopelessness of Cullen’s condition. I found myself wishing I’d been looking at his face when she’d pulled off her wedding ring tonight; it must have been a glorious wreck. Maybe Josie had noticed; I would ask her when everybody else left.

I was almost sidetracked by the idea of getting Josephine alone when Hawke interrupted. It was the first thing he’d said all night, Merrill having done all the talking for the normally effusive duo.

“Am I the only person here who thinks she’s got to be unhinged?” he asked, a little incredulous.

“She thought she was crazy when she woke up in Haven,” the Iron Bull said slowly, as if working to pull up the memory. “It seemed to bug the shit out of her. She decided she was dreaming; it was either that or she was three cards short of a deck, and it was pretty easy to see she wasn’t nuts.”

“Right,” Hawke waved impatiently. “That was _then_. She just _magically remembered_ the night her entire world ended. Cullen came unhinged after just Kinloch. I mean, sorry Cullen, that was rough and everything, but I would take a month or five of demon torture over _watching my world end_ any day of the week.”

Cullen simultaneously shrugged and shook his head. I couldn’t blame him – comparing evils was a pointless endeavor.

“She is damaged,” Solas said softly. “She has suffered an injury that few can contemplate, much less survive. For a brief time, after the initial shock from the memory, she did have a mental break. She recovered from that quickly, and is progressing appropriately through the expected stages of grief.”

“I can concur with that judgment,” Vivienne said smoothly. “I spent much of the last days with her, and saw no signs of psychological weakness. Quite the opposite, really.”

Hawke was shaking his head. “ _How_? Even she says she’s just a housewife.”

“Gwen keeps our secrets,” I told him, in my best _angry Inquisitor_ voice. “Even unto her death, as you heard on the battlements the day you met her. She keeps _all_ of our secrets. We will return her that courtesy. If she bears some inner strength that steels her for these circumstances, then that is hers to disclose.”

“You know,” he accused me. “What is she, Hellen? Are you clutching a monster to your chest?”

“She is no abomination,” Vivienne immediately countered, in a voice that brokered no argument. “I tested her myself as she slept.”

“ _Vivienne_ ,” I protested. “I told you that was unnecessary.”

Vivienne gracefully raised an eyebrow, looking pointedly at Cole before looking back to Hawke.

I scowled at her. “Cole is not an abomination, and we are not having this conversation again.”

“I said nothing, my dear. I am merely reassuring our revered guest that his fears are unfounded.”

“I don’t like it,” Hawke said, his jaw stubbornly set. “The Veil feels different around her, and I can’t my put my finger on why.”

Merrill was nodding slowly, and I realized I was, too. A glance at Dorian showed a slightly guilty expression. We’d all noticed it.

But only Solas and I – and the Commander – knew what it meant.

“You are welcome to stay in Skyhold and keep an eye on our Seeress if it pleases you, sirrah Hawke,” I offered.

I didn’t have to look at Varric to know he’s brightened up like a Ferelden being handed a mabari puppy.

Hawke shared a long look with Merrill and then shrugged. “Maybe I will.”


	26. Interim: As Above So Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: Gwen

Dagna was beside herself when she realized what I was asking for.

“You’re sure? You’re absolutely _positive_ you want me to deconstruct this band?”

“I want it back,” I reiterated. “I don’t want to forget I was married. I just… am not married anymore. I’m a widow. I need to represent that change.”

Dagna was nodding eagerly. “I know just the thing. _Just_ the thing. Oh, you’ll love it.”

I unthreaded the ring from the silver chain and handed it to her. She put out both hands and accepted it reverently.

“This… this is almost pure,” she breathed. “Is this… was this _common_ on your world?”

I nodded. “That was nothing special. Just a plain gold band. Most wedding bands for women had diamonds in them and I… I was too rough on my hands. You can see how badly dented and dinged that is. I washed my hands dozens of times every day at work. I would have knocked a diamond out of its setting within the first year of our marriage.”

Dagna hadn’t stopped nodding. “It’s too pure, really. That made it soft. I’ll have to blend it…” She trailed off and then looked up at me, suddenly still. “When do you want it by?”

I shrugged. “Whenever you get a chance. When should I come back?”

“Oh, I don’t know. A few hours?”

“What?”

“Is that too long?”

“What? No! I was thinking… days, maybe weeks.”

Dagna huffed an offended breath. “ _Weeks_. Maybe if I was charging by the hour. Here, it’s warm by the forge. Take a blanket and get comfortable.”

I did just that, settling in and watching Dagna work.

It was _incredibly_ cathartic to watch Dagna melt down my wedding band. I could not think of better symbolism: _Dagna_ making something new out of the ring that was likely mass-produced for a chain jewelry store in Boston. She was deconstructing it with more reverence than its creators could possibly have crafted it.

I dozed off at some point; the steady sounds of the forge bellows and the heat of the fires lulled me to sleep.

“Gwen,” her voice in my ear dragged me back into consciousness. “Gwen, here, it’s done.”

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and put my hands out. A much larger, much heavier piece of metal than the one I’d provided her with was placed in my palms.

“Like I thought, it was _pure_. I've never seen gold this pure, even the stuff they smuggle. Anyways. It was too pure to work with, I had to mix it. Serpentstone, drakestone, everite.”

She had crafted the sword-and-eye of the Inquisition in an open filigree the size of my hand. The serpentstone gave a green glow to the all-seeing eye, while the drakestone tinted the sunburst red. The sword of mercy and the chain had the steely look of everite; but above all it was clearly still gold.

A closer look revealed there was not a single smooth edge anywhere on it; she had covered every surface with minuscule runes.

“Dagna, this is _beautiful_.”

“Here, put it on,” she took it back from me and quickly worked to fasten the chain around my neck, after showing me how the mechanism worked. It was weightless once it was settled on my collarbone; far lighter than it should have been.

“What are the runes?”

“You noticed!” she preened. “Protection from the elements, mostly. Cold, Fire, Lightning. Wear that in the desert and you might not sunburn. Like I said, the gold was _pure_. Pure gold conducts enchantments the best, but it’s so soft the runing gets damaged or wears off. This is the best of both worlds. Literally, I guess. It was an honor and a privilege to craft this for you, Gwen. If you come across any other offworlder metals…”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t think I have any more, but I’ll keep my eyes open.”

She grinned at me. “I’d appreciate it.”

I left the undercroft after sharing a short but genuine hug with the Arcanist and made my way slowly back to my room beneath the kitchen. The stiffly patrolling guards stopped and saluted as I went through, and I didn’t know how to respond. Not wanting to ignore them, I gave them both a quick curtsy and then fled.

My candles were lit – and not smoking, so one of the mages was the guilty party – and I was able to get ready for bed quickly. I dug out the shift Josephine had given me when I first came to Skyhold, struggling a bit to tie the laces behind me but wanting the physical reminder of the seemingly endless kindness I had been shown in this, my new home.

Wearing only Josie’s shift and Dagna’s pendant, I stretched out on my narrow cot in my tiny room and, for the first time, slept better than I ever had in my expensive king bed in my sprawling American home.

*

The morning I awoke with Dagna’s pendant laying heavy on my chest was easily the strangest of my life.

Acceptance had come hard, but it was settling in. For the first time in years – maybe ever in my life – I surrendered my mind to the storm of thoughts and associated emotions.

I was a widow. I’d _been_ a widow, whether I remembered it or not, for more than five months. What did that even mean? Was there some standard mourning period in Thedas? Had I completely fucked up some major protocol by not wearing black the whole time I’d been here?

I didn’t let that thought bother me for long. _Josephine_ , I thought immediately. Josie will have that answer. She’ll probably already have a plan in place.

I laid there, staring at what should be my ceiling but was instead impenetrable darkness, and tried to sort out my feelings.

The thought that Patrick was dead – _dead_ – was alien. But was it that far removed from _Patrick thinks I am dead_? Did it change anything?

Of course it did. I couldn’t tell myself he was happily moving on, finding himself a cute young blond to console him in his time of need. He was dead – _dead_ – and there was no chance he was finding his way without me. I couldn’t take solace in the thought that maybe he was getting a second chance at love.

On the other hand, I also couldn’t worry that he was being investigated for my disappearance. He wasn’t suffering in my absence, not in any sense of the phrase.

And I’d been mourning him for months. I’d come to grips with the concept that I wouldn’t ever seen him again… was this really all that different?

I allowed myself to be bitter for a moment. Yes, _yes_ it really was _that_ different. He was _dead_. That was a hell of a lot different emotionally and psychologically from us being separated by some misunderstood metaphysical barrier between worlds. Functionally, however, it was exactly the same. I knew I couldn’t see him again, and now I _really_ knew I couldn’t see him again. It was the same.

It was not the same.

With a sigh, I pulled myself off my bed and stepped to the door, pulling it open to let the weak light in from the hallway. I grabbed the candle off my desk and padded down the passage to the flickering lamp mounted on the wall to light the wax taper. I lit the other candle in my washroom and started with my now-familiar morning routine.

Teeth, face, hair. Fresh clothes gathered for my bath. Check to make sure I’m presentable – I was in a shift, so the answer to that was a resounding _no_   - and stop to throw a dress and shoes on before making the trip to the bath. I blew out my candles on the way out the door.

I made another list in my mind as I walked through the still-quiet halls to Hellen’s room, where I was taking my baths under orders from Vivienne; she remained unconvinced that our bathing chamber was entirely sanitary. I needed to thank Vivienne. And Solas. And Hellen. And Cullen. And Cole. And Dorian. Probably not in that order. I needed to make sure Cullen’s head wasn’t falling off; I hadn’t seen him about his withdrawals since before Adamant. I wanted to sit down and chat with Sera. I desperately needed a chat with Josephine about mourning protocol; I would hate to reflect poorly on the Inquisition by not behaving appropriately as a new widow.

If I was even still considered a _new_ widow. Since, you know, it had been _nearly six months_.

In a way, I felt terrible that I didn’t feel terrible.

… _that_ , at least, was a thought for another day. I could dissect my guilt later, once it had time to fade.

I bathed in solitude and silence, thankful for the daily reprieve, though I missed my amiable mornings with Dorian and Hellen. I dressed in my uniform – as the infirmary was still packed to capacity – and went to find Sera. I exchanged pleasantries with Blackwall and Cassandra on the way, and fancied that I’d caught a glimpse of Cole as I entered the Herald’s Rest. Maryden waved at me as I walked past her to the stairs, and I managed to return the gesture while calling greetings back to the Chargers in response to their boisterous hello.

Sera was balancing precariously on the back of a chair near the door to her room, hands in the air and toes curled around the edge of the seat. I slowed my approach to a stop when I noticed she had only one chair leg on the floor. She glanced up, recognized me, and then lightly leapt to her feet as her balance slipped and the chair tumbled to the floor.

“Didn’t expect ya so soon,” she said by way of greeting.

I could only shrug with a smile. “Have to keep moving forward.”

“Right,” she quickly agreed, setting the chair back upright and then jerking her head towards her room, silently encouraging me to follow her.

“I never got a chance to say I was sorry,” I told her as she shut the door behind me.

“Sorry fer wut?”

“When we were coming in from Haven… I could have been nicer. I have a hundred reasons… excuses, really, for why I said what I said, but-“

“Just shut it,” Sera interrupted, but there was no malice in her tone. “There isn’t anything you coulda said that woulda convinced me as quick as _pride cookies_. Maker’s nose hair, Gwenna, I asked you for proof and you _gave_ it to me. I can’t complain about that.”

“No, Sera, I could have-“

“ _Shut it_ ,” she laughed. “Look, I asked you to come talk to me so that _I_ could apologize to _you_ and yer making it way harder by being nice and stuff, so _shut it_.”

I realized my mouth was open and slowly closed it.

“I got butt hurt, a’ight? I figured I walk up to this faker, prove she’s a liar all sneaky like, and then either out you to Hellen if she stayed straight, or force ya inna helping me. And then, two words, and I’m on my head and tryin to understand how some stranger knows something I hadn’t even figured out myself. Not in so many words, at least. So I do the easy thing, and I get mad. Stay mad. And I come up with a hundred ways you could still be a liar, but none of ‘em are right. And then you’re runnin’ around lookin’ like a servant and then words gets around you _are_ just a servant, just a working stiff who got swept out of your world like inna fairy story. Some nobody who’s doin’ what she can to help. And I can’t… I can’t be mad at that.

“But it was still easier, right? Still easier to be mad than to admit you’re real. And then… and then you go and keep me outta Adamant, and I think – yes! I can _be mad_ and not feel like an arse about it. But then you hafta go and tell me why, and then I’m on my head again. Because you know me, don’t you? You know me better than I know me, and yer not using it. Yer backin’ off, givin’ me my space to be angry at you and keepin me from making a right arse of myself and why?”

She was quiet for a moment before I realized she’d actually asked me the question. “Why… what? Why aren’t I using what I know?”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

I shrugged. “I am using it. I’m trying to keep Hellen’s allies happy and healthy and working together. But I knew… I knew you wouldn’t want to see what she saw. I knew you’d rather _not_ be in the Fade. You and Cole both. I mean, I know everybody doesn’t _want_ to be in the Fade, except for maybe some of the mages. But you and Cole would take it the hardest and I didn’t want either one of you to suffer like-“

“There!” She exploded. “That! Just that! Why you gotta be so _fucking nice_. I am an _arse_ to you!”

“Because I know you, Sera,” I answered, watching her flinch as I said it. “I know you don’t like to think about it and I know you’d rather things stay simple but I _know you_ and I _like you_. I think you’re fucking hilarious. And I love what you stand for and _how_ you stand for it and I love that you threw in with _this_ lot rather than keeping to yourself. And if you don’t like me, that’s fine, but that doesn’t change what I know about you, how much of an amazing person you are.”

“How?” she asked, throwing herself onto the cushioned window seat. I sat down gingerly on the opposite end of the cushion; beside her, but with ample space for explosions and discontent. “How do you know about me?”

“You know how I know things, in general, right?”

She shrugged. “Yeah. We’re some game for you.”

“Well… sort of, yeah. Apparently the woman who brought me here has been teaching people in my world about your world through these games. Pretty brilliant, actually. But the games themselves… they make the player take the part of the Inquisitor-“

“So you fancied yourself Inquisitor? Must have been a shite way to wake up, still bein’ nobody.”

I shook my head, smiling at the playfulness of her tone. “I wouldn’t want to be Hellen.”

“No argument there.”

“But my point is, there are different potential Inquisitors. Different people could have survived the Conclave. The Inquisitor could have been male or female, dwarf or elf or human, mage or rogue or warrior-“

“So you know how the world would be different if somebody beside Hellen survived?”

“Right. And in some of those different worlds, the Inquisitor and you fall in love. Get married, somewhere years forward in time. And you tell her about yourself, tell her things you don’t tell anybody else. That’s how I know so much about you.”

“Pillow talk?” she cried, aghast. “You’ve heard me pillow talk with some… some…”

“Yes,” I cut her off. “Yes, I have.”

Her jaw clicked shut as a suspicious look swept over her features. “But you thought you were the Inquisitor.”

I sighed, laughing at myself as I realized where she was going. “Yep.”

“So… _you_ were holdin’ the reins on some quizzie who fell into bed with me?”

I nodded, not really trusting my voice.

She seemed to think about it for a minute. “Who were you, when you loved me?”

“Malika Cadash,” I answered immediately.

“Carta? Marcher carta, sounds like. Probably, wut, spying on the Conclave?”

I nodded again. “You called her-“

“Twee. I woulda called her Twee.”

I nodded. Sera looked at me sadly for a long time before dropping her gaze to her toes. Eventually, I stood and made my way to the door.

“We could… talk again sometime? If ya want?”

I paused with one hand on the door frame. “I would like that,” I answered. Her eyes swept back to her shoes, and I let myself out.

 

*

 

I had a series of conversations that day, most of them with people I had barely interacted with before now.

Cassandra was having a brief conversation with Lace Harding, and I was able to stop and chat with them both as I left Sera’s room. There was a sort of familiarity between Cassandra and I that we had been missing up until this point – likely born of the shared loss of our beloved brothers – that I quickly became enamored of. Cassandra had been surprised to see Solas and Cullen bring me books – having known I couldn’t read Common and not having expected me to learn so quickly – and Harding joined her in offering up suggestions of their favorites. It occurred to me that Cassandra had a taste in books that few others would claim, and I immediately promised to take her up on the offer of discussing literature at a later date.

Blackwall walked up to us then, and I went back inside and nursed a drink in the tavern with him for the better part of an hour. I grimly confirmed that I _did_ know his story, and I _would_ help him when the time came, if I could. I made a mental note to have Leliana look out for the news of hangings in Val Royeaux.

Varric joined us eventually, and took over the conversation, as was his wont. It was almost comforting; we’d spent so many evenings in the tavern together by this point that it seemed a natural thing to do.

I climbed to the third floor of the ‘Rest and glanced about for Cole – in vain – before taking the door into the tower and then up to the battlements. It would be freezing cold on the top of the wall in a few months, but the late summer sun was a beautiful thing that I wanted to soak up as much as possible. Cullen was desperately overworked when I entered his office, but he had a broad smile for me and promised he was no worse for wear.

“I suspect the worst of it is behind me, thanks to you,” he said.

“Don’t get cocky,” I warned him as I continued through to the battlements. He waved me off with a laugh, and I made my way to the infirmary. I took my time, enjoying the perfect weather, and again allowing my mind to wander through thoughts that normally I would immediately suppress.

It was easier to think about Patrick than it was to consider the implications of everything _else_ I had remembered.

I had seen the Inquisitor lose her hand. It was years away, and pointless to worry about with Corypheus still wreaking havoc and the Winter Ball yet to be navigated, but the threat was real. If everything went right, if everything went the way it was supposed to, I would be assisting Eleanor in hacking off Hellen’s left arm in a few years.

It had all gone fuzzy. Perhaps intentionally? But I’d had no memory of it when I had started up my friendship with Solas.

And now that friendship might be the influence I needed to save the fucking world.

I put the thought aside as I did my tour through the infirmary, making recommendations to Eleanor and tweaking nursing assignments to minimize personality conflicts. Three people were well enough to be released, and two more were likely to follow the next day. I spent easily an hour on my log entry, my mind continually straying back to Solas and his conversation with Hellen as I had lain, stricken, in Cullen’s arms. The thought followed me doggedly through the keep as I made my way back to the main hall, tugging on memories half-forgotten in the fog of interdimensional travel.

Could I keep Hellen’s arm from deteriorating to the point of amputation? Could I convince Solas to free her from the anchor before she had to suffer? Could I prevent the qunari invasion from ever reaching Halamshiral?

Could I keep Solas from destroying the world?

It was not a train of thought to chase as I strode through his room, though, and I cut it off before tugging open the door.

He was not present, for once, and I detoured only briefly to my room in the lower level before making the long climb up to Hellen’s chambers.


	27. Interim: The Importance of Best Friends in American Mourning Rituals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Comprehensive Treatise by Gwendolyn R Murray  
> With Foreword & Dedication by Hellen Adaar
> 
> (Or, as dissatisfied_doodles insists: The Maiden Voyage of the NCSM HELLGWEN)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter of the Interim is upon us! There's been a ton of super important stuff here, but the story shifts again with the start of Part 2. I'm not as far along with Part 2 as I would like to be, so I will try to spread out my chapters a bit more to make sure I don't run out of material or create continuity errors.

Hellen was not present when I arrived at the top of the long staircase.

I did not care.

I took the opportunity to dig  _literally_ everything out of the bug-out bag and spread it across her room. There was a solar panel meant for charging small electrics buried towards the bottom that I wanted to test with the Thedosian sun. There was a pile of first aid supplies that I wanted to check for patency and potency. My stethoscope and sphygmomanometer were both hale, as was my little pulse oximeter and pen light. Dagna would shit a brick sideways when I gifted her one of the dozen ballpoint pens I dug out of my purse and nursing bag, and I tossed one aside for that purpose, giggling. There was a UV water purifier - another Dagna coronary in the making - three vials of penicillin, and two epi-pens that also needed to make a trip to the undercroft. 

By the time Hellen finally came in, some four or five hours later, I had discovered my solar panel did, indeed, function well with the Thedosian sun, and my cell phone battery drained far slower here than in my original world. Not that it mattered, because I could _charge it_.

I also concluded that Thedosian red wine was far smoother and more pleasant than any French vintage I’d ever tried, and Hellen had several very lovely varieties.

“Are you drunk?” Hellen asked in lieu of a greeting.

“You bet your ass I am,” I replied in English.

“Oh, we’re going to have one of _these_ nights?” she cooed in the same language. “I _love_ these nights.”

“I need your help,” I told her.

“You… you do?” She paused in the act of stripping off her bracers to look at me uncertainly. “What kind of help?”

I waved a hand dismissively, letting it drop and hit the base of the chaise I was draped across. “No epic quests, no quick errands, no moving from this room. I want to partake in an American mourning ritual, and I can’t do it alone.”

Hellen kicked her boots off and finished removing her armor with alacrity. “I would be honored to help. What do I do?”

“Sit here,” I said, patting the chair beside me, “or wherever, really. I’m going to queue up every song that reminds me of Patrick,” I gestured with my smart phone, “and teach you the words so we can sing along while I sob like a lost two-year-old in Wal-Mart.”

“What’s Wal-Mart?” she laughed as she took the aforementioned seat and worked on uncorking a new bottle of wine.

“To explain that, I’d have to explain venture capitalism, plastic, and leopard-print spandex. It’s one of those things that just won’t ever make sense.”

“You’re in rare form,” she laughed again, handing me the bottle. “Want a glass, or are we passing the bottle?”

I took a swig and handed her the bottle back as an answer. “First up: Adele.”

Three hours later, I had perfected my buzz, taught Hellen the lyrics to every song about loss I had stored as an MP3, and developed the sort of sore throat that one usually wakes up to after a night at a rock concert. We were laying on her bed on our backs, shoulder-to-shoulder though my toes only barely reached her knees. My wedding song was playing on repeat in the background, volume turned low.

“Are you about cried out?” she asked, reaching out to blindly pat my arm, and then following it up to cup my cheek.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve never had to do this before.”

“Maker willing, you’ll never have to do this again,” she whispered.

“People die,” I answered, surprised at the steadiness in my voice. “The most basic truth in life is that you either die young, or you bury your loved ones. There are no other options.” I paused and considered Patrick’s passing. “Or, if you’re supremely unlucky, you and everything you’ve ever loved dies together in some cataclysm. But for the most part its just the first two options.”

Hellen snorted. “We’re working pretty hard to avoid that last option here, if you recall. All of us being destroyed in a flood of demons as Corypheus rips open the Veil is still a possibility.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, shit. That makes me _doubly_ unlucky, to be faced with that crap _twice_ in less than a year.”

“It might be following you,” Hellen noted. I could hear the laughter in her voice.

“For fuck’s sake, don’t throw me into any more portals. God only knows what else I could ruin.”

Hellen laughed openly then, and I happily joined her. Being in possession of equally dark senses of humor wasn’t the only reason we were friends, but it was one of the bigger ones.

As we fell silent, the MP3 playing in the background was briefly audible.

_I’ll be your crying shoulder. I’ll be love suicide. I’ll be better when I’m older. I’ll be the greatest fan of your life._

“Ugh,” she said. “I know this is your wedding song and all, but can we listen to something else? Pick another theme and teach me more lyrics?”

“What’s it worth to you?” I teased.

“I’ll volunteer to go first at questions, and not pass,” she offered.

“Questions?”

“You ask a question, I either answer or take a drink. I volunteer to answer first.”

“Done,” I said, clapping my hands in time with the single syllable and rolling off the bed to scoop up the MP3 player.

“How about… cynical views of love and religion as our theme?” I asked, scrolling through my playlists. “And that doesn’t count as my question.”

“Perfect,” Hellen laughed.

With Hozier’s _Take Me to Church_ playing and Rufus Wainwright’s version of _Hallelujah_ on deck, I grabbed two goblets and another bottle of wine – there were several empties strewn around the room – and perched on the foot of the bed. Hellen sat up and leaned back into a pile of pillows against the headboard.

“Okay, so one question you _have_ to answer before you get the option to drink,” I said, thinking quickly. “The night after we met Hawke, when I spilled my guts to Solas and you couldn’t find me... and then I fell in the infirmary and Cullen caught me, and he was carrying me back to my rooms when you found us… you remember that night?”

Hellen slowly closed her eyes as I was talking, and when I finished, nodded once and drained her drink.

“Hellen! You can’t pass!”

“I know. I’m too sober for this question,” she answered grimly. She slid off the bed and padded across the room to the sideboard for a refill while I forged ahead with my query.

“You and Cullen had some kind of standoff, and as you walked away I asked him if I was missing something. He said _I think we all are_.  Nothing else. What the hell was going on?”

Hellen painstakingly resumed her spot on the bed, shifting minutely in every direction until she was perfectly settled; stalling. I waited her out.

“Since you’ve been here,” she said finally, “you’ve been… oh, let’s call it _emotionally unavailable_. You’ve made friendships, of course. I’d hazard the guess that you and Dorian are at least as close as you and I, and if you’ve only just won over Leliana, Josie and Cullen have adored you from the start. But it never went farther than that. You were this _front_ of cold logic and determination. You couldn’t tell us the things that you feared because you couldn’t risk the future, and I understand that, but you need to understand how _terrifying_ that is. We were faced with this strange woman who obviously had a heart of gold judging by the time she spent caring for the wounded and trying to save as many lives as possible in Haven. But she _knew Haven was happening_ and hardly flinched. She calmly told Cullen there was an _army descending_ , and then tells the Chargers she’s just a housewife, never a day of combat training. Gwen, that’s _fucking scary_. That’s a sociopathic level of detachment. That’s the sort of shit that gets you pulled out of the army, or sent off for reprogramming in the Qun.”

I’d never thought of it that way. All I could do was nod.

“So the day you burst into tears and ran away from Hawke, you showed us the first serious crack in your armor. You showed us that you really _were_ the kind, caring, demure woman you insisted you had been, that you could _feel_. But if Haven couldn’t rattle you, what the fuck had you seen about Hawke? What about his future would make you cry, when _red lyrium abominations_ and a _dragon_ couldn’t shake you? It was horrifying and intriguing and _everybody_ wanted to know more. If your walls were crumbling, we… _I_ wanted to be in a place to peer inside. But Cullen found you first, and probably for the best… you weren’t ever just an asset to him, not like you were to Leliana or, to a lesser extent, Josephine. You were someone who had the best interests of his soldiers as a priority, and so you were always his ally, from the first day you rushed the evacuation of Haven and started healing his troops. When I saw Cullen had found you, I was… well. I was pissed, and more than a little jealous. Rather than be able to get you to myself and keep chipping away at that crack in your armor, he insisted on you going back to bed, getting your rest and recovering. It meant your walls would be rebuilt, which was the better option for _you_ but the worse option for everyone else. He was right, and I knew he was right, and so I let him put you to bed.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” I pressed when she fell silent. “Cullen said _I think we all are_. What did that mean?”

Hellen snorted. “I think I could get out of answering that, since it was _Cullen_ who said it, and not me. But, honestly, Gwen, you know what he meant. You know what he and I were both missing.”

I blinked at her. “Hellen, if I knew, I wouldn’t ask.”

She blushed, then, a lovely flush of violet across her cheeks as she laughed helplessly at me. “Maker’s breath, Gwen, if you don’t know, maybe _emotionally available_ wasn’t a strong enough term. Maybe _emotionally stunted_ would be more apt.”

A light seemed to go on in my mind. “You have… had… feelings for me? No-“

“Yes, idiot,” she laughed. “Don’t worry about it. You were so obviously _not interested_ that it wasn’t that hard to move on. Not that you aren’t damn near perfect, granted, but I’m not the kind of woman who sits around and waits to be noticed.”

“But… I thought… you and Josie?”

Hellen shrugged happily. “ _Me and Josie_ hadn’t happened yet at the point in time we’re talking about. The night you disappeared was really the night I decided to move on. I’d gotten my hopes up when you’d run away, thinking I could find you and comfort you and…” her blush expanded, but she forged ahead relentlessly, “and when I saw you with Cullen, when I saw he was going to help you rebuild and maintain your detachment, I realized what I wanted wasn’t what was best for you. And I decided I wasn’t going to wait and see, that I’d rather have whatever you were willing to offer rather than try to bring you around to my way of thinking. That, and you made it pretty obvious you were more interested in men.”

I could only laugh. “I am more interested in men, you’re right. God, Hellen, I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry? Thank you?”

“Neither gratitude nor remorse, please,” she said with a smile, obviously relieved the moment had passed. “I’m glad things worked out the way they did. You’re the family I never knew I needed, and seeing me pursue you gave Josephine just the right amount of jealousy to hasten things along when I abandoned the chase. On a different note, I can’t begin to imagine how bad things might have been, had I managed to convince you to get involved with me before we got our memories back. I would hate myself even more for bringing you the news that your world was, well… gone.”

I nodded. “I’m better off alone,” I agreed.

Hellen smoothly leaned forward, pulled a pillow out from behind her, and lobbed it deftly into my face. Wine had dulled my reaction time, and I pitched backwards off the bed. Hellen’s laugh joined my own as she peered over the edge of the bed at where I was sprawled on the floor. “You are _not_ ,” she chided.

“I am! I was married, now I’m a widow, and I’m not doing this shit again. I’ll just be the Charger mom and the infirmary Chief and the Inquisitor’s friend. That’s more than enough for me.”

“You’re the Inquisitor’s annoying-ass little sister, for one,” she corrected me, laughing. “And you are _not_ dying alone. You’re going to come to terms with whatever has developed between you and Cullen if I have to lock you two in a cell together.”

“Hellen, no. I-“

“My turn,” she interrupted, reaching down to grab me and easily pull me back onto the bed. My wine glass had stayed, miraculously upright, on its perch on the footboard, and I picked it up as Hellen settled herself – much more quickly this time – into her mound of pillows. I took the one she’d thrown at me and propped it between my back and the footboard and stretched my feet towards her as I twirled the goblet by the stem between two fingers.

“When did you fall in love with Cullen?” she asked. I considered downing the wine and passing, but the question wasn’t that hard to answer. That, and I’d about had my fill of avoiding questions; I’d done nothing but avoid things for the last six months, and the only person who could suffer from this confession was me. I couldn’t answer any questions about her future, but I could answer anything about my past.

“Which Cullen,” I countered, and had to bite back a laugh as a delighted smile split her face when she realized I intended to answer; “the digital Cullen from the game, or the flesh-and-blood Cullen I met in Haven?”

“Both. Either. It’s the same thing, really,” Hellen answered eagerly.

“I’ve told you that there were three games, right?”

Hellen nodded with almost childlike enthusiasm. “One for Amell, one for Hawke, and one for me.”

“Right. The first one, the one that taught us about the Blight and introduced us to your world, came out maybe six years ago. The first time I ever saw it, the first hour I sat down and started to play, I was experiencing the world with a young mage from the Circle tower in Ferelden, and when Amell was walking through the halls that day looking for her friend, or maybe she was on her way to see First Enchanter Irving, she bumped into a young templar. They obviously had a rapport, and he got adorably flustered when she flirted with him. The next time she saw him, though, was when he was imprisoned at the top of the sundered tower during Uldred’s failed uprising.”

“Wait, Cullen and _Solona Amell_ had a thing?” Hellen interrupted, plainly shocked.

I shrugged. “Depends on your definition of _thing_. There seemed to have been some degree of mutual emotion, but how far past that it went, if at all, is the business of Cullen and Solona, and _not_ either of us.”

Hellen made a _carry on_ sort of gesture. “Point made, point taken. So he was cute as a recruit. Noted. Continue.”

I shook my head. “Question answered.”

“ _Seriously_?” Hellen practically squealed. “You were _in love with him_ since the second you met him in the damn game?”

I felt myself stiffening up against the admission of _love_ but forced myself to acknowledge the feeling. I felt my cheeks redden and I had to fight to bring my eyes up to Hellen’s. “I watched him over Hawke’s shoulder in Kirkwall, saw him struggle with the injustice around him while still suffering from the memories of Kinloch. I saw him stand back-to-back with an apostate in the Gallows the day the Chantry burned and Meredith snapped. And then I watched over the shoulder of a woman from Ostwick as Cullen led the armies of her Inquisition, saw him fumble through falling in love, listened to him propose, witnessed his wedding.

“And when I woke up in Haven and _met him_ , it was impossible not to see how very similar he was to the man I’d been shown a digital facsimile of. So much is exactly the same… his history, his family, his work ethic, his _laugh_. But he was short changed in so many ways… they showed me his books but never how well-read he is. They showed me the late hours he worked, but not how _amazing_ he is at his job. They let me peek at his temper but never exposed the unbelievable passion he holds for everything he loves, nor how extensive that list of loves _is_. I would sit with him every night and talk about what I was reading… the Chant, the Tale of the Champion, the Qunari Prayers for the Dead, or any other of a dozen books, and he had stories to go with each one; how this verse reminds him of a Lieutenant lost in Kinloch or a picture book reminded him of his sister teaching him to read.”

I found myself scooting closer to Hellen as she inched her way across the bed towards me, as caught up in my words as I was in the emotions attached to them. “But here’s the kicker, Hellen. When I came back to myself, the day I got my memories back, I was in his arms. Once I was back in my right mind, the thing that made me cry, the thing that made me _keep_ crying, was him telling me that my screams had reminded him of Kinloch.”

Hellen sucked in a hissing breath between her teeth. “No, Gwen, he-“

“The day I found out my husband was _dead_ , the thing that made me cry was that Cullen had been hurt. Do you understand the implications of that? Because I’ve been running from it as hard as I can.”

Her jaw shut with a _click_ as her eyes flew wide.

“Yes, Hellen, I love him. And I haven’t said that to anyone, barely even admitted it to myself. I’ve spent so long running from it, denying it, avoiding it, that I’ve shoehorned him into the role of _just my friend_ and I don’t think there’s anything either one of us can do about it at this point. And, after watching _everything I have ever loved die_ , I’m terrified of having anything else to lose. At this point I would almost rather be alone and safe.”

She took my hand in hers, reaching up with the other to brush away a tear that I hadn’t realize had fallen. “I think it’s too late for that, Gwennie love.”

I dropped my head to her shoulder as she wrapped me in a hug. “I know. There’s already you, and Josie, and Dorian, and Cole, sweet cinnamon bun Cole. So many of you that already I would be devastated to lose.”

“So what’s the harm in admitting you love one more?”

I sighed. “It’s too soon. And it’s different. Don’t ask me to explain it.”

I felt rather than saw Hellen nod. “I can’t say that I understand, but I trust that you do. You’ll know when it’s time. Just… Gwen, love, don’t build that wall back up. It nearly broke you when it came down. This you – the open, singing, crying, vulnerable you – is worth getting hurt over. You care so much for so many… please don’t forget to care for yourself, too. Try to figure out what you need, and make sure you get it.”

“Did I somehow sleep walk into the Chantry?” I grumped. “Are we playing questions or am I being lectured?”

Hellen poked my side, but gestured for me to take my turn as she slid off the bed and padded across the room to grab a new bottle of wine and pour us both refills. I waited for her to top off her glass before I asked, “When did you know you loved Josie?”

Hellen shrugged. “I don’t,” she answered. Then, looking me dead in the eye, she drained her goblet.

All I could do was laugh. “Fair enough. Your turn.” I stood with her, stretching and wandering over closer to the fire while she poured another refill and then put the bottle back on the sideboard. 

She slowly crossed the room to join me where I’d settled on the chaise. She was noticeably less steady on her feet. “A silly question, then,” she proposed as I queued up a new playlist and set the phone aside with a smirk.

“Fire away.”

“When you first woke up, I was the only woman you could talk to. So I kept waiting for you to come ask me how we handled our courses here. Since, you know, you’re from some world with completely different materials and methods for _everything_. I had my explanation all ready. But you never asked. I took that to mean that maybe you weren’t really from another world, although _obviously_ … well. So, my question is, how do you manage your courses?”

“My… courses?”

Hellen frowned. “Do you have a different word? Your monthly bleed. You do that in your world, right?”

I held my face carefully blank. “Oh.”

“What?” Hellen asked, suddenly concerned. “Did I offend? Do you not-“

“No, you couldn’t have known,” I reassured her. “It was kind of you to anticipate the need. I’m sorry I never thought to ask you, if only to avoid this exact moment.” I took a deep breath as Hellen’s expression descended further into dismay. “Women in my world definitely do have _courses_ , and we have a half-a-dozen slang terms for it, so _courses_ is as good a word as any. They are monthly, they start somewhere around the age of 12, depending on culture and dietary habits, and they probably serve the same function as they do here. But I… Christ. I haven’t thought about it in, oh, probably seven years. Not since right after Patrick and I got married.”

I cast a glance at my wine glass, took a long swallow, and then set it intentionally aside, cupping my water glass like an anchor. Hellen seemed _more_ concerned by my not taking a pass. “I got pregnant. I was on my way to the doctor, for the ultrasound that would tell us the gender of the baby. But on my way, there was… I was in an accident. You saw my car, in the memory? Two of those hit each other, at high speeds… it was one of the most common ways to die in my world. The other driver was running from the police, high on… on… on a drug you don’t have here, thank god, and this… this is getting too complicated. I survived, the baby didn’t, but in the attempt to save my life they had to remove my womb because it had ruptured and I was bleeding out. So I can’t ever get pregnant again. The technical phrases are _abdominal trauma, uterine rupture, emergency hysterectomy_ , and _driving while intoxicated_.”

Hellen’s hand was in mine again, although I didn’t remember who had reached out for who. “I was in school to become a midwife. After that I just… couldn’t. But I got along well with all the nurses in the emergency room, and when I was well enough to return to work, that’s what I wanted to do. I did then what you saw me do here… I just didn’t think about it. And that... that _not thinking about it_ is all I’ve done ever since: don’t think about it, put up a wall, never look back. Patrick was so scared he was going to lose me and so relieved when I made it out of surgery, that not being able to have children seemed like a small price to pay. We went through it together, and that helped… he didn’t blame me for not being able to have children. I never had to explain it to him because he heard about it with me, we made the decision together, to try to save my life… All of these things that _wouldn’t be true_ if I tried to move on, tried to start a relationship with another man. But… I have to think about it again, don’t I? I have to dig it up and _deal with it_ instead of being able to bury it and walk away. I have to stop running from these things that have happened to me.”

“Have you not thought about it once in all these years?”

I snorted. “I wish. As soon as you get married in that country, people starting asking you when you’re going to have children. When you tell strangers you’re married, they ask if you have any kids. You say no, they offer some platitude or cliché. So, yeah, I’ve thought about it. And I thought I’d come to terms with it. But maybe all I did was use it as a template to avoid everything that’s ever bothered me.”

Hellen dragged me into a hug. “First, thank you for telling me. Second, I’m sorry for dragging this out of you. Third, I’m _not_ sorry, you needed to vent this. And fourth… you’re not going to find anyone in the world, in _this_ world, who can actually understand what that was like. That sort of thing happens here… but the women don’t survive. You might fear that you’re not going to get the support you need because quite literally no one knows what it’s like to live through that sort of loss.  However… just because I cannot possibly empathize with you doesn’t mean I can’t listen, and it doesn’t mean I won’t do _everything I can_ to help you.”

“I know, Hellen.”

“And everyone else who loves you will say the _exact same thing_. You’re a survivor, Gwen. And sometimes surviving is almost always harder – if not outright worse – than falling. Don’t forget that.”

“I… I will try.” I promised.

Hellen squeezed me a bit tighter. “We’ve survived for a grander purpose, you and I. We were singled out and _saved_. Not everybody can say that… sometimes it’s blind fucking chance. We have to take that and run with it.”

“Actually… yeah.” Justinia had taken Hellen’s hand and pulled her out of the Fade. The woman that had materialized in my garage had done essentially the same thing for me. There had to be something in that… and I found myself _clinging_ to the idea with a ferocity I didn’t think I had in me. "I never thought about it that way, but you're right."

I survived – I survived _everything_ – for a purpose. Somebody had a plan for me. I was where I was supposed to be.

“You know what this means?”

“What?” I asked, leaning against Hellen’s shoulder.

“Special stock. Let me get the good stuff.” She eased off the chaise and padded to the little room off her bedroom that contained the random things she didn’t want stored anywhere else – including my specially locked treasure chest. Both keys were still in my possession, threaded onto a thin everite chain and secured on my wrist.

As Hellen came back out with the bottle, I decided what to do with the second key.

“Flames of Our Lady,” Hellen announced, brandishing the heavily stylized bottle.

“Load me up,” I answered.


	28. Part II, Chapter 1: Discoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Part 2! This section will span the time between Adamant and Halamshiral. I'm not completely done with it, as I post this first chapter, but I'm tearing through Halamshiral at a goodly rate so I remain unconcerned. I have a 75K buffer (yes, we're probably not halfway through this fic yet) and so I won't slow down posting near as much as I thought I would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (American) Thanksgiving! I intend to enjoy your notes while I'm cooking the turkey for my family. I hope you have a perfectly lovely day, regardless of where you call home. I am thankful for all of you - if you're reading this, I love you. You make this labor worthwhile.

The next morning was when the bodies were found.

I woke up warmer than I could remember being, with sunlight streaming across my face and what felt like a very angry army of sprites with pickaxes waging war inside my skull.

“Jesus Mary and Joseph, what did we _do_?” I moaned as I tried to drag the bedding over my face to block the light.

“Flames of Our Lady got you,” Hellen’s (very smug) voice answered from close by. I twisted my head a bit to see her laying beside me, head propped up on her hands and a disgusting smirk on her face. “I told you, one glass of water per glass of wine, and you went to sleep halfway through the fourth glass of wine. Today’s going to suck for you.”

“Inquisitor!” the shout from the stairs bounced painfully back and forth between my ears and stole any retort I could make.

“Easy, Gwen’s head is falling off,” Hellen laughed, sliding out of bed. The temperature plummeted without her body heat nearby. I tugged the blankets tighter around me and focused on breathing.

“Inquisitor, you must come at _once_ ,” the altogether-too-loud voice continued. “Lady Gwen should be summoned as well.”

“You can’t _summon_ me, I’m right _here_ ,” I grumbled as I oozed out of the covers and off the side of the bed. I straightened up slowly. “Fuck me running, what I wouldn’t give for some aspirin and a giant greasy cheeseburger,” I groaned in English.

“Good, you’re both here,” the intruder continued, and it occurred to me that his voice was familiar. I risked opening an eye.

Against the streaming, brilliant, utterly fucking terrible morning sunlight, the messenger was identifiable as Cullen.

Because _of fucking course_ it was Cullen.

“What happened?” Hellen was asking, a bit quicker on the uptake than me.

“We sent a group of masons scouting around the base of the keep. I wanted to begin routine checks of the foundation and stop any erosion before it became a weakness in the fortifications. They didn’t get very far before they found it.”

“Found what?” Hellen prompted. I was groping along the wall, trying to find the sideboard to get a glass of water _or nine_ without opening my eyes. Cullen fell suspiciously silent, and a moment later he was pressing a water goblet into my fingers.

“It’s a bad day to be hungover, my lady,” he gently chided.

“You, of all people, need to _not_ scold her for this one,” Hellen said. “Trust me here. You are very _very_ glad she got drunk and loosened up last night.”

I hissed at her to _shut her fucking face_  in English.

The water helped. By the third glass I could almost listen to what Cullen and Hellen were discussing.

“Wait, _bodies_?” I asked, joining in at the end of a rather gruesome description. “Somebody’s been tossing bodies off the keep?”

“You don’t know anything about it?” Cullen asked. The shock was plain in his voice.

“No. _Fuck_ no. That’s not supposed to happen.”

“It is a possibility, then, that this is one of those things that are changed because you’re here,” Hellen observed.

“I haven’t been killing people and dropping them off the side of the building, Hellen.”

“No offense, Gwen,” Cullen answered for her, “but no one suspects you of eliminating ten Orlesian assassins – known Bards as well as agents from the House of Repose – and three Antivan Crows.”

As hangover cures go, shock is a powerful one. The surge of adrenaline did wonders to kickstart my liver into action.

“Crows? There’s a pile of dead assassins beside the building?”

“Welcome to the party,” Hellen said with a roll of her eyes.

“Somebody find Cole,” I told Cullen, ignoring the Inquisitor. “Cole will know.”

“Cole is the one person we _can’t find_ ,” Cullen informed me. “Nobody’s seen him.”

I realized they were both looking at me, expectantly. “Right. I’ll go find Cole.”

 

*

 

One does not simply  _find Cole_. You make it very clear that you’re looking for him, and you wait for him to find you.

Ain’t nobody got time for that.

I stood in the third floor of the Herald’s Rest, a thin wisp of dark cloth in hand to press over my eyes when I went out into the sunlight, and told Cole in no uncertain terms he needed to come talk to me _right the fuck now_.

“You needn’t order,” he said in his wispy whisper behind me. I turned, slowly, to face him. “I can’t hide from you. Not you.”

“Cole, sweetheart, did you kill those people and toss them over the wall?”

“Contracts and darkness,” he answered. “No heart, no mercy, no recourse. The second hesitated, changed his mind, kept going for the money, money for his child. I had to stop him, had to protect Loyalty and Compassion and Wisdom but I took the money to the child once his father lay in the snow.”

“Who were they sent here to kill, love?” I asked, still far too hungover to try to sift through Cole’s stream of consciousness.

“You,” he answered simply.

I blinked at him.

“Spending too much time with Hellen,” he whispered rather sagely, and I wondered if it was my thought or his.

“What..? Why? Have you… Oh, fucking hell, my head.”

“Yes, we can,” he said, and took my hand.

I didn’t care to wonder what question he’d heard in my subconscious.

He led me to Cullen’s office, and sat me in the Commander’s chair. It was a horribly uncomfortable thing, and I wondered why he kept it.

“Looks like the chair from his father’s office, can’t really picture the man, graying head hovering about the chair back, oil burning low, duty honor loyalty commitment.”

“Fair enough,” I gritted, and laid my forehead carefully on the edge of the desk.

It was nearly an hour before Cullen came back to his office, and he had Hellen and Leliana in tow, the Spymaster apparently midway through briefing the Commander and the Inquisitor.

“As I said, I have heard no whispers of any assassinations aimed at the Inquisitor or – oh!” she broke off as I sat wearily upright, blinking against the sunlight streaming through the door. “Oh, Hellen is right, you look _dreadful_.”

“Flames of Our Lady,” I confirmed. “I regret nothing.”

“Lies,” Hellen laughed, hitching her hip onto the edge of Cullen’s desk near me and brushing the hair out of my face. I happened to have a clear view of Cullen’s face as what could only be jealousy flashed across his features and was immediately doused.

I pointed at the corner I suspected Cole to be inhabiting. “Don’t say it. Not one word. I saw it for myself.”

As the three newcomers looked at me uncomfortably, I gestured towards where-Cole-should-be. “Tell them who the assassins were coming after.”

“The Offworlder, the Charletan, the Seer,” Cole obediently responded. To their credit, the other three people in the room didn’t flinch when Cole seemed to suddenly appear. “The woman in the healer’s tunic, the Infirmary Chief, gold trim across snow white.” Cullen stiffened almost imperceptibly, Leliana seemed dangerously nonchalant, and Hellen hissed out a breath laden with dismay. “She sleeps in the deep, in the darkness. She walks the battlements alone, she stops atop the towers and gazes up at the stars. Kill the offworlder.”

Leliana opened her mouth to voice the question that furrowed her brow, but Hellen was quicker.

“The Inquisition thanks you, Cole, for defending its Seer.”

Cole’s face brightened. “We protect each other.”

“Yes, well,” Cullen stepped towards the boy, rubbing the back of his neck. “In the future, the rest of the Inquisition would greatly appreciate notification of assassins within its walls.”

“They can’t hide from Cole,” I reminded him, pulling the young man over into a one-armed hug. “You could hear them coming from a mile away, couldn’t you?”

“I still don’t understand. Why a cinnamon bun? Is it like being on a muffin?”

I swallowed a laugh as Leliana moved to redirect the conversation. “Who sent them? Who paid them? Did you get any hints of that?”

“Orlesians,” he practically spit. “Fine masks and false names, kill the Seer for the Game.”

“Oh, fuck a whole lot of that,” I said, allowing every ounce of _whine_ into my voice. “Halamshiral is going to _suck_.”

“Someone in the Orlesian court is trying to kill Gwen?” Cullen articulated carefully. Something about his tone made the small hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Cole slid his hand into mine.

Hellen and Leliana exchanged a quick glance before looking back to Cullen. “War room,” the three of them said.

Hellen paused, as if to say something to Cole, but Cullen waved her on. He turned and stood toe-to-toe with the young man, and pressed both gauntleted hands onto Cole’s shoulders.

“I will,” Cole said with an encouraging nod. “For her, and her, and me, and you, and her. Especially her.”

Cullen nodded once, sharply, and strode out of the room.

“I should go-“

“You cannot stay in the darkness,” Cole told me, and led me out a different door than the one the others had just exited through. “They know to find you there. You need a safe place to see the sun, to keep to the stars. Dorian and Blackwall have one. I’ll show you.”

“I should go to the war room-“ I tried again.

“They need you _safe_ ,” he said, dragging me across the battlements. “You would not help.”

I wanted to argue, I really did, but the kid was right. As terrifying as it was to know there was apparently some kind of contract out on my life, my first impulse was to thumb my nose at it. It was impossible, in my mind. I’m just some small-town girl wandering around the wrong end of nowhere, no threat to anyone. Obviously it was a joke, and _obviously_ we should be laughing at it. However, _come and get me, fuckers_ , was not an appropriate response to the Antivan Crows.

“See?” Cole said softly.

“No, you’re right. I would scoff at the loss of freedom.”

“No clipping wings. Just the opposite. We’re giving you to the sky.”

“What does that mean?”

Given he’d apparently been _throwing corpses off the walls_   I should have been more concerned by his turn of phrase. Instead, I found myself wondering, morbidly, exactly where he’d found a quiet spot to lob not one but _thirteen_ bodies over the side.

“You needed a window,” he said, with the air of a reminder. “I needed a hole.”

_The window for the bathing room_ , I remembered with a jolt. “You’ve been fending them off since _then_?”

“They weren’t serious, not at first. That came later. The Crows came later. They thought it was you, thought you were killing the killers. Had to leave one alive, let one go back. _Skyhold is haunted_ , he tells them. I won’t let them remember.”

I was still working through everything – I did pick a terrible morning to be hung over – when Cole pulled me through  a doorway into one of the many towers. I hadn’t been paying attention to our route, between keeping the sun out of my eyes and trying to follow Cole’s stream of consciousness. Once we were inside, I easily recognized the lower levels of the tower we’d used for our bathing chamber. I hadn’t been there in nearly a week, and Cole dragged me through fast enough that I couldn’t pick out exactly what was out of place, although I got the impression that many little things had changed.

There was a heavy door leading to the second-to-the-top floor, and signs of new masonry. Cole grinned at me and pushed the door open, to reveal a very comfortably appointed living room. There were two large, overstuffed couches facing each other beside the faintly glowing fireplace, a thick rug beneath them. A stout desk not unlike Josie’s sat nearby, with a chair sized for Hellen but layered with heavy woolen blankets.  A bed easily twice the width of the cot in my room was tucked under the staircase, so that only the polished wooden footboard was visible. Josephine’s sense of style was easily visible, but I thought there was one of Blackwall’s carvings on the sideboard, and the draperies looked suspiciously like one of the colors Vivienne had insisted would make my skin look brighter.

Cole tugged my hand to lead me to the top floor – what used to be our bathing chamber. The room had been divided in half, with the three casks sitting companionably next to each other on one side. The other side now contained the chest from Hellen’s chamber that I knew contained the blue bugout bag I’d somehow brought with me to Thedas. Nearby sat what could only be described as a work bench. The rest of the space was full of shelves and cabinets – all empty.

“For whatever study you chose,” Cole said, eyes locked on my face.

“This is for _me_?”

With another tug on my hand, he led me to the far corner, where a ladder was cunningly carved into the stones of the wall. I hadn’t seen it until he started to climb, and only then did I make out the trap door in the ceiling. Cole shouldered open the heavy wooden planks and disappeared into the sudden blinding daylight.

Worst day for a hangover, _ever_.

I was, luckily, still dressed for the infirmary – not having had a bath that morning, or breakfast, or time to _brush my teeth_ – and I was able to pull myself onto the roof. Hooray, pants.

The walls were waist-high and crenellated, giving me security and a nearly perfect view of Skyhold stretching out below me. I could see the tops of the other towers, look down onto the roof of the main hall, and just barely make out the side of one of Hellen’s balconies. If she stood outside, we could wave to each other from here. Satina hung low on the horizon, dim in the noon sun.

The roof was barren except for a very strange chair, a large metal bowl, and a low chest. The chair was highly polished wood, varnished to the point of water proof, almost like it had been dipped in resin. The chest was similarly finished, to stand up to the merciless weather in the Frostbacks. The chair had no legs, and no straight lines; it was all sinuous curves. Inside the chest was a stack of dense blankets and a long line of pencil-thin glass flasks, looking more like syringes than bottles.

I looked askance at Cole, and he gestured for me to sit down in the chair. Once I was in it, I realized it was a kind of rocking chair, and it managed to be exceedingly comfortable for not having any upholstery or padding. Cole lifted a phial from the chest and dropped it into the bowl, shattering it.

Fire immediately sprang up – weak in the sunlight, but instantly warming.

“Balefire,” Cole said, gesturing at the bowl. “Warm like fire, bright like fire, but needs no fuel. It will burn for half the night, to keep you warm without needing to haul firewood. Like Veilfire, but of magic instead of memory.”

My eyes filled with tears. “This… this is too much. We could house ten people in this space.”

Cole stuck out a hand in a light fist, and then raised one finger. “Planning ahead.” Another finger up. “Keep Gwen safe.” A third finger. “Sunlight for music.” A fourth. “Never need sleep alone.” His thumb went up last. “Still bathing chamber for Dorian, for Hellen, for injured like Lyal.”

“I could move my office here,” I said, mind alight with possibilities. “Free up more space in the infirmary. Move the stock of potions to the top floor. I could even have my cot brought up, keep exceptional patients here. Like Lyal…”

“Sounds like she’s catching on,” Blackwall’s gruff voice ghosted up from the trapdoor. I pushed out of the chair and hurried to the cleverly concealed ladder. I couldn’t see in – not with the noonday sun casting the indoors into shadow – but I lowered myself down with as much haste as I could manage. Blackwall and Sera were waiting for me in what I was already mentally referring to as _the workroom_.

“This is too much,” I told them. Sera made a tiny gesture like she wanted to hug me, and I immediately pulled the lithe elf into a tight embrace. She lifted me lightly off my feet.

“It’s just right, ya daft arse,” she told me as she set me down. Blackwall looked exceedingly pleased. “You can’t be living in that hole, and there’s no room left in Hellen’s tower. Got Josie and Miss Metalbritches up in there already. The Jackboot’s got two floors, office and sleeping quarters, and Lilly’s claimed the whole rookery, as if she ever slept. You’re getting no more room than any of them’s got, and you’re just as important. Fall outta portals, get the posh tower rooms. Deal with it.”

“I believe the idea was for Cole to inhabit these rooms, as well,” Blackwall added. “That’s become a bit more important as the events of the day have unfolded.”

Cole was no where to be seen, but I knew, somehow, that he was close.

“I have to move my stuff,” I said, half to myself.

“Viv already had done,” Sera corrected me. “And stuffed your closet full of all sorts of fancy dress. Watch her; she’ll have you dancing at snobby noble parties in no time.”

“There’s no fancy parties for me,” I told her, a bit darkly. “Not if some Orlesian’s got it out for me.”

“There’s an easy answer for that,” Sera asserted.

“Arrows?” I asked.

She nodded. “Arrows.”


	29. Pt II Ch 2: Questioning the Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen dares to ask the timeless questions: who am I? what am I? why am I here?  
> And, like everyone else, she does not like the answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I told coffeeguru that I wouldn't post any more chapters until she managed to write 5K words, because she lacked motivation and agreed when I offered to provide her some.  
> However! She put in a monumental effort and I love her too much to actually punish her. So, here you go, Coffee. <3

I had to make a trip to my old room to see for myself that everything had been cleared out, and even though I couldn’t see Cole I knew, somehow, that he was dogging my steps. It was almost as if I could close my eyes and point at him, at any given moment.

I sat on my narrow cot for a long time, watching the single candle burning on the desk. The steady commotion from the kitchens was almost white noise, dulled as it was by the thick stone walls. The heat was palpable, and I decided it was probably the only thing I would really _miss_ about the room. It had been exactly what I needed when we first arrived in Skyhold, but now…

“Sunlight for power, space to work, view of the sky, close to the stars,” Cole’s voice softly recited everything he knew I would love about my new apartment. He was leaning against the wall near the door, just far enough out of the candlelight to avoid casting a shadow.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” I told him, just loud enough to carry over the rumble of the kitchens. “I suppose you know that.”

“I do.”

‘You’re taking awful good care of me.”

“I told you. You’re like me. You just didn’t remember.”

“Cole, love, I’m not. I’m-“

“You are. You remembered, and now you need to understand. You’re different. You’re as different from everyone else as I am. We are the same.”

It was useless to argue with him. I stood, blew the candle out, and left the taper – the next inhabitant of the room would need it, and I was sure someone else would get the room as the population of Skyhold continuously expanded – and followed Cole out of the room.

“You don’t believe me,” he accused.

“I don’t. I know what I am, Cole, and I-“

“I used to be confused. I was like you, thinking I knew who I was. I was wrong. _You_ are wrong. I can’t make you see, but I know who can.”

I was fairly confident that Cole was my current ticket to freedom, while the advisors and Hellen figured out what do about assassins roaming Skyhold. As long as I was with Cole, I was considered safe. I certainly _felt_ safe. As he seemed determined to lead me somewhere, it was in my best interests to follow, regardless of whether I agreed with him about precisely who and/or what I was.

“You trust me,” he said, half over his shoulder. “Why can’t you believe me?”

“Just because I trust you doesn’t mean I think you’re perfect,” I informed him calmly. “I don’t think you’re lying, I just think you’re wrong. Everybody is wrong sometimes.”

I couldn’t tell if the sound he made was a snort of laughter or of disgust. Regardless, it was the last sound he made for awhile as he led me out of the lower levels of the keep and into the main hall. I was surprised when we came to a halt in Solas’ antechamber.

Solas was sitting at his desk, bent over a series of pots of powders, carefully grinding up another batch of tint to continue work on the mural addition from Adamant. His back was to us, but he seemed to hear our entrance.

“Cole, I understand your concern, but I see no purpose in continuing this line of inquiry without her participa-“ he cut off suddenly as he glanced up and saw me standing beside Cole. “Gwen! Forgive me, I did not realize you had come.”

“Cole brought me,” I said, gesturing to where the once-spirit had once-stood; he was still present, if not readily visible.

Solas pushed himself up from his table. “You were to check on my wound the day after treating it, but given the events of that day I did not expect you to return with any alacrity. I assure you I am fully healed, with no magical interference. There isn’t even a scar. Would you care to-“

“No,” I interrupted, a bit crassly, and dropped onto his couch. Without looking, I extended my left arm across to half-heartedly punch an invisible Cole in the shoulder; he was getting easier to spot all the time. “I followed Cole here, since he’s apparently the only thing between myself and a contract with the Antivan Crows.”

Solas watched my interaction with Cole with undisguised astonishment, but the contract on my life was even more surprising. “Has someone attempted to harm you?”

“Thirteen someones, apparently,” I quipped. “Some of Cullen’s people found them at the base of the wall this morning during a foundation inspection, and Cole admitted he’d tossed them out the window after stopping them from killing me.”

The elven apostate ran a hand over his scalp and paced restlessly. When he opened his mouth to speak, I cut him off once more.

“I’ve been moved. Cole is my roommate now. Hellen has everyone in the war room, up in arms over it. That’s not why I’m here. I think Cole brought me here so you could convince me I’m a spirit like him, although I keep telling him that’s not possible – there’s no Fade in my world for anybody to have drawn a Veil across. I trust that your wound is healed, you don’t need to strip down again to show me. And you should know I was awake for your entire conversation with Hellen and Cullen in the war room a few days ago. I think that sums up our positions.”

Solas’ concerned expression twisted into one of wry amusement. “This is not the same Gwen who bandaged my ribs five days past.”

I made a face at him, pursing my lips and twisting them to the side, and he coughed a laugh, shaking his head. “I’ve had a run of bad days,” I told him. “It has a way of changing a girl. The raging hangover this morning didn't help."

“May we speak elsewhere?” Solas asked.  “It is a lovely day, a walk to the cave we used before…”

“Have you seen my new rooms?” I countered. “There is a lovely view from the roof.”

“No,” Solas replied with another small smile. “I have not yet seen your new rooms.”

“Let’s fix that,” I said as I pushed off the couch, catching Cole’s hand on the way up to pull him along with me.

 

*

 

Cole vanished as we walked, although since it was right after I considered detouring to the kitchen to pilfer a decanter of wine for my first legitimate guest to my new rooms, I was pretty sure I knew where he was going.

“Explain to me your sudden awareness of Cole,” Solas prompted as I pulled open the door to the tower I now called home. He slid through the doorway before me, his eyes narrowed as he took on the role of _defender from assassins_ in Cole’s temporary absence.

I shrugged, tugging the door closed behind us and waiting for Solas to give me the all clear before leading him up the stairs. “I figured he was just getting lazy, and letting me know where he was. That, or it’s part of his plan to convince me I’m some kind of converted Fade Spirit.”

“And you think that is unlikely?”

I cast him a sideways glance as we topped the last rise of stairs and shouldered open the door to my apartment. “First, because there is no Fade, no Veil, and no elves in my world. There was no equivalent of Fen’Harel creating the Veil between dreams and reality.” The twist of his mouth was answer enough, and I gestured for him to sit on one of my couches. “Second, I was born like this. I have always been this way. I am just like everyone else from my world. There are no demons, no spirits, no world of dreams, no _blight_. I cannot be a spirit because there were no spirits where I came from.”

Solas tented his fingers, smiling very slightly. “There is a flaw in your logic there, but we can pursue it later. Tell me what you remember of my conversation with Hellen.”

“I am in the same place in the Fade as I am awake. You cannot approach my dreams. Eye of a hurricane. And why didn’t you mention that before?”

“Would you have listened? Much of our previous conversations revolved around sirrah Hawke and Warden Alistair dying in the Fade or your interests in alchemy. Which of those could serve as a segue to the peculiarities of your slumber?”

I shook my head. “You were waiting to discuss your wound healing, to provide such an opening. What is the connection?”

“Connection is not quite a strong enough word,” Solas amended. “They are not merely connected phenomena, they are two symptoms of the same root cause.”

“Which is?”

“You, da’len, are most definitely a spirit.”

“Fuck you.”

“I believe we already determined that was not a course of action you wished to pursue.”

“Fuck you, _with a stick_.”

Solas tipped his head back and laughed.

Cole was sliding into the room, then, bearing a tray of delicate pastries and carafes of wine and water. There were apparently glasses in my sideboard – which I  had not spent enough time in the rooms to notice – and he quickly poured glasses for all three of us.

“Told you so,” he whispered as he handed me the wine, passing wine to Solas and keeping a glass of water for himself.

“Tell me your reasoning,” I directed Solas once Cole was seated cross-legged on the floor between us, his head on my knee.

“First, the otherwise inexplicable way the Fade twists around you implies you are fundamentally different from any other human I have ever encountered. Such a difference _must_ be explained. That you are a creature as much of the material world as of the Fade would render such an explanation. Cole is neither human nor spirit, but rather something in between. That state of flux is what gives him his unique characteristics. You, on the other hand, are _both_ human and spirit. You exist fully in both realms, thus imparting your rather singular skillset.”

I was not a fan of this train of thought. “And you believe my skillset to be…?”

“You exhibit an unheard-of capability to heal, without utilizing magic. I contend that such a capacity descends directly from your superhuman will.”

“My will?”

Solas nodded. “I could not place a finger on what was so different about you until you _ordered me_ not to exchange my life – or any other lives – for that of Hawke or Alistair in the Fade. I could feel your will wash over me as if I was confronting a demon in the Fade. Rather than interacting with a creature of Pride or Rage, however, I could feel the elements Cole has repeatedly mentioned in relation to you-“

“Compassion. Loyalty. Wisdom.” Cole helpfully reminded me.

“Thank you, I think,” I sighed. “And since spirits control the Fade by simply asserting their will over it, and I have some kind of weird relationship to the Fade, I am therefore a spirit.”

“I can hear your skepticism,” Solas continued mildly, “but merely coming from a different world does not explain how you were able to will away Lyal’s infection, Devon’s chest wound, or Cullen’s withdrawal symptoms. I assure you, da’len, your silver remedy would not work a fraction as well in the hands of someone without your will to support it.”

That struck a little too close to home. I _knew_ there was something else going on, and this was the first time we’d found an explanation for it. I could feel my guard building up, and knew I was on the verge of denying his theory on stubbornness alone.

“And I became a spirit-person-amalgamation how, exactly?”

“You yourself say there is no Fade in your world. What if there _is_ , but you are simply unaware of it? The Veil was never created in your world, and you are the ultimate product of millennia of spirits and humans comingling. Everyone in your world would have various combinations of spiritual traits, and varying powers of will. Was it possible that the difference in your world between a man succeeding or not sometimes fell to willpower alone?”

I swallowed. “That’s about the definition of _the American Dream_ ,” I admitted.

“Very well then. A world of such beings would limit the impact of willpower of all, and as such would minimize the noticeable effects.”

We were rapidly approaching the realm of _shit I will suppress and never think about again_. I was working to avoid that sort of reaction, so I took a long breath and tried to deal with it rationally.

“Let’s take that a step farther, then,” I enunciated carefully. “Assuming you’re right – and I am not anywhere near agreeing with your theory – what does this all actually mean? Sometime, millennia ago, my world was built like yours? But nobody ever got around to creating the Veil, for whatever reason. And now, after countless generations of evolution, we have hybrid-humans, containing the characteristics of the spirits their ancestors made pacts with, like Anders, or amalgamations like Cole.”

Solas was nodding. “Reasonable.”

“Alright. So this would imply that the connection between our worlds is an alternative-universe kind of relationship. The difference between my world and yours is there was no Veil created. My world is what this world could have been, were there no Veil.”

That brought Solas up short.

“So, perhaps on a far longer timeline, not creating the Veil means _elves go extinct_. There are no Blights and no Darkspawn, but there is also no magic, no dwarves, no dragons, no qunari, and not one single solitary elf. Is this really the assumption you want to work under? That the creation of the Veil might have actually preserved the elven race in some form?”

Solas looked stricken as I plowed on. “I’m not ready to accept the idea that our worlds diverged and that I’m from an alternate universe. I don’t see any reason to believe I’m not from the other end of the universe, and evolution just happened differently. If we’re from fundamentally identical worlds – and diverged somewhere prehistorically – then _the stars would be the same_. We’re from different solar systems, different galaxies. The alternate universe theory is disproven by looking up at the stars.”

Solas looked as troubled as I felt. “May I make a suggestion?”

“Of course you may,” I immediately answered.

“I think you would be benefitted by an alternative perspective on the nature of our worlds.”

“Oh?”

“Indeed. I cannot guarantee it will provide you a solution, but gaining insight into this problem could only be beneficial.”

“And I would find this insight how?”

His brow was still furrowed with thought, but his lips twisted into a ghost of a smile. “There is a shrine to Andraste here. I have found peace there, when venturing beyond the gates is impractical. It is quiet and unassuming, and I believe you have never set foot there.”

“No,” I laughed. “No, I have never set foot there. But if it’s something you think I should do, I’m game. You think you’re so fucking clever.”

He was frowning again, and then rocketed to his feet. “Upstairs; quickly, da’len, quickly.”

His suddenly change in demeanor was baffling, but I knew better than to argue. I turned and ran up the stairs, pausing in the workroom only long enough for Solas to indicate the trapdoor to the roof. I climbed up, the elf hot on my heels. He dropped the door shut and with a circular hand motion cast a strange purple light over it – a ward of some kind, I assumed. He indicated I should join him, and dashed to the edge of the roof.

I followed him at a slower pace, easing to the crenellated roof and looking carefully down.

The twisted body of a man lay on the flagstones far below us, already attracting a crowd of shocked onlookers. He was dressed all in black, and after a moment I saw he had to have fallen _out of my tower_. A heartbeat later I realized _I hadn’t seen Cole in awhile_.

“Fourteen,” my oft-forgotten protector whispered in my ear.

 

*

 

Skyhold was dropped immediately into complete pandemonium.

“I don’t think that’s what Cullen meant when he told you to _let the Inquisition know_ about the Crows,” I told Cole in exasperation.

Cole, for his part, merely shrugged and vanished again. Solas and I kept to our vantage point on the roof, and watched as Leliana and Cullen arrived to investigate the commotion and try to spread some calm. Cullen immediately looked up at my windows, and Solas joined me in waving down at the Commander.

Even from that great distance above the courtyard, the relief was plain upon his face.

I saw Cole appear beside Cullen, tersely fill the Commander in on his version of events, and then immediately vanish once more. I got the impression he was coming back into the tower, but I wouldn’t have put any money on it. Solas dragged a blanket out of the chest and draped it around my shoulders as I watched the spinning chaos of the courtyard.

“How did you know?” I asked him, indicating the body on the flagstones far below.

“I have a different relationship with spirits than most,” he answered carefully. “I can… _hear_ … Cole, in a way that is difficult to explain. You seem to have some small amount of that affinity, as you are continuously improving your ability to find him.”

I felt my mouth twist into a caricature of a frown. “Wouldn’t that imply that I’m more like you, in that I came from a world without a Veil? Or are you using it to imply I’m like Cole, in that I have an affinity for sensing him?”

“Tell me about your dreams,” he said, and I frowned for real.

“Evading the question?”

“Not remotely.”

I shrugged. “Dreams are your mind’s way of processing the things you see when you’re awake. My dreams are often my memories, repackaged and rearranged.”

“You say they are _often_ your memories. Do you ever have dreams that turn out to have been prescient?”

I didn’t like that question _at all_. “Yes, I suppose.”

“And do you never have control over your dreams?”

“Not generally,” I answered carefully.

“But you can control them sometimes? Perhaps when you choose to?”

Seriously, fuck this line of questioning. “Yes. We call it _lucid dreaming_ , when someone realizes they’re asleep and they work to control their dreams. Some people are better at it than others.”

“Have you ever tried this _lucid dreaming_?”

I heaved a frustrated sigh. “Yes.”

“Did you meet with any success?”

“Yes.”

“Would you be willing to an experiment? A sleeping draught, perhaps, to help you stay asleep, and you attempt to dream lucidly?”

“And your hypothesis for this experiment.…?”

“I admit I do not grasp your meaning.”

“What do you intend to prove or disprove with this?”

“I will sleep at the same time, and attempt to find you in the Fade. We need not have any expectations, merely a trial.”

There really wasn’t any good reason to turn him down. Hellen’s voice, reminding me not to build any new walls, seemed almost mocking in my memory. “Fine. Whatever. Should I go pray at Andraste’s feet first?”

Solas was not put off by my attitude; if anything, I amused him. “I doubt the Commander will let you out of your tower at this point in time, da’len. The sun is already setting, we could merely call an early night. I will go fetch applicable potions and have an evening meal sent over. Cole will watch over our slumber.”

The only way out, it seemed, was in. “Fine. That’s… fine. Thank you, Solas, for trying to help, whether or not I am very gracious about it.”

He cocked his head to the side as he smiled. “You’re welcome, da’len. I believe the pleasure is all mine.”

“I believe you’re correct,” I laughed, and settled into the low-set rocking chair as Solas lifted the ward off the trapdoor and disappeared into the growing darkness. I dug another blanket out of the chest for my lower half and turned the chair to watch the sun dip below the mountains in a flare of red.

The next face I saw, as twilight settled around me and I began to consider dropping a balefire flask into the bowl, wasn’t Solas’ or even Cole’s. Instead, Cullen emerged out of the trap door.

“Forgive the intrusion,” he said in lieu of a greeting. “Cole said you were untouched, but I wanted… well.”

“It’s fine, Cullen,” I laughed. “You’re welcome here any time. I want you to feel free to come find me if your head starts bothering you. If I’m up here, or even in the work room, I might not hear a knock at the door. I should have Dagna rig me up a doorbell…”

“So you were not harmed at all in today’s attack?”

I shook my head. “No. I was conversing with Solas downstairs, and he apparently heard Cole somehow and hurried me up here, warding the trap door behind us. I never saw the Crow – not alive, at least. The first I knew of it was when I looked over the side and saw people gathering around the body.”

“Cole implied he’d heard the man’s thoughts as he was looking for you, and killed him elsewhere. He dropped him near your tower so it was _perfectly clear_ that this was an assassin targeting you. I was perhaps not plain enough when I told him-“

“-to notify the Inquisition?” I laughed again. “I said the same to him, that this was not what you meant.”

“No,” Cullen breathed out a laugh of his own.”No, it was _not_. There is no going back now. It is all we can to do avoid a panic.”

“Eh, just let everyone know that I’m being targeted. Should calm them. Targeting me is _logical_ to most people, at least. Should keep the panic down.”

“And risk someone here taking on the job themselves in hopes of a payday?” Cullen scoffed. “I would not allow it.”

“No, you make it widely known that I’m protected. Honestly, the Crows dying around here should make _everyone_ feel secure.”

“I admire your optimism,” he sighed, leaning against the section of wall nearest me, “even if I don’t share it.”

“That seems to be a common theme today,” I grumped.

“Who else disagreed with your optimism?” Cullen asked, and I could hear the smile better than I could see it in the deepening night.

“The opposite, actually. Solas has a very clever theory to explain my _unique skillset_ , as he called it. I think the entire idea is, to be frank, fucking ridiculous.:”

Cullen laughed openly then, catching himself against the wall as he tipped his head back with genuine mirth. “I can only imagine what he came up with, to irk you so. I suspect any justification for considering you special in any way would be spurned by you.”

I had to work that through for a moment. “You might be right. I’m much more comfortable being nobody.”

“You are anything but,” Cullen softly corrected me.

“You and Solas conspiring against my ego?” I asked, desperate to keep the tone of our conversation light.

“Possible, if unintended,” he answered.

“He’s coming back in a bit, if you want to question him. He’s bringing me a sleeping draught in attempt to find my dream.”

Cullen pushed off the way, taking several steps towards me. “Is that wise?”

I had to lean the chair back to continue meeting his eyes. “Sleeping is rarely a poor decision, regardless of your own prejudices.”

He laughed in spite of himself. “No, is it wise to seal yourself in slumber? When you… Solas said before that you… he did not wish to trap you in dreams with no escape.”

“You are referring to the night I got my memory back,” I said, understanding his concern. “I have no fear of nightmares, not like that. Not tonight.”

“Even so soon after an assassination attempt? I admit I am uncomfortable with the idea of you asleep and helpless.”

I had to bite back a very inappropriate joke about how much he might like my being _awake and helpless_ before forcing myself to make the polite answer. “Between Cole perched at the foot of my bed and Solas merely steps away, I have no concern for my personal safety.”

Cullen did not seem half as unconcerned.

“If it would make you feel better, you’re welcome to observe. It promises to be completely boring… me snoring, Solas perhaps cursing, and Cole likely reciting all the perfectly mundane things running through my head.”

Cullen shook his head roughly. “No, you’re right. That is unnecessary. Forgive me for being overprotective.”

“Forgiven,” I granted. “As I told you before, Cullen, I feel safe in Skyhold, even now. Anything you cannot protect me from, Cole can.”

“Thank you,” he said in a voice barely more than a whisper.

“If you’re quite done,” Solas called from below the trapdoor, “there is dinner here for easily a dozen. The kitchen seems to have decided you needed a stockpile of food in your new rooms.”

Cullen extended a hand to me, and I took it, letting him lift me gently out of the low rocking chair. He folded one blanket and tucked it into the chest while I handled the other, and then he closed the chest for me. He held the trapdoor open as well, gesturing for me to precede him down the nearly hidden ladder. He did not, however, stay for dinner, bidding us good luck and a pleasant slumber before letting himself out.

Solas handed me a slim phial alongside a glass of wine as he indicated the generous spread of food on the coffee table between couches. “It is a weaker variety, so it is best to take it with food and give it some time to work. It will take two, maybe three hours to truly take effect, and only last for four to six hours beyond that.”

With a sharp nod, I tossed back Solas’ sleeping draught and sat down to dinner.


	30. Pt II Ch 3: Sleep to Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas' experiment is conducted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. See, Eisen, I told you I had a bit about pets coming up.  
> 2\. ...Because some of you have said you couldn't believe in a world that Higgins didn't exist. ;)

The grass was sharp beneath my feet; the sort of stiff blades that spoke of recent drought and a particular resilience of the plant. It was the sort of perfect late spring day that drove you out of doors to soak up every available second of sunshine, and I had never been one for shoes in warm weather. The breeze was just cool enough to counteract the warmth of the sun, and I’d bared as much skin as I could to soak them both up. I had my favorite tank top on – olive green, with huge burgundy and navy flowers embroidered from the shoulder to the hem down the left side – and a minimalist blue wrap skirt barely keeping my bottom half decent.

Morty came running back to me, head held high, the stick I had just thrown proudly retrieved. He was moving slower now; he’d aged considerably when we’d lost his sister Killeen the winter previous. They’d been litter mates – brown and blond versions of each other – and inseparable. We wouldn’t have Morty the chocolate lab for much longer, but I intended to enjoy every moment with him I could.

He dropped the stick at my feet and turned suddenly, tail wagging to greet a visitor coming around the side of the house. I saw a man drape himself over the fence, wearing the most bizarre clothes. I took in his leathers and furs before really seeing his face beneath the cowl.

“Solas?” I asked.

As if his name was a trigger, my backyard began to dissolve.

“Hold the dream, da’len,” he called back. “Focus on this place, on the memory.”

It was hard – easily the hardest thing I had ever done – and I felt sweat beading up on my forehead. A swipe of my hand across the skin showed it was dry – the sweat was on my _actual_ forehead, my sleeping form back in my tower-

The scenery seemed to waver, and Solas called out again in encouragement.

I looked down at Morty – I had been dreaming of the last good day we’d had, before he’d taken sick. He’d died not three weeks after this afternoon, his health caught in a sudden, determined spiral into oblivion. _I want this time with him_ , I thought to myself. _I want to reach down and scritch his ears again, smoosh his little face_.

That was what finally gave me the strength to stay on this side of sleep. I found myself on my knees, my hands on Morty’s face, helping his milky eyes find mine and accepting his eager kisses.

“Well done,” Solas called gently from somewhere off to my left. Something in his voice told me he was acutely aware of what I was feeling, why I was able to stay in the dream.

“Can you see?” I asked him without looking up from Morty’s happy full-body wiggle into my lap.

“I can see you, standing awake in the Fade. You _woke up_ when I called out to you. I cannot see your dream, and I cannot approach. You would need to invite me in.”

“Like you’re some kind of vampire?” I laughed.

Solas made a sound so like one of Cassandra’s disgusted grunts that for a moment all I could do was giggle.

“Is it just a spoken invitation? Or is it something more than that?”

“It is more a summons,” he answered, his voice yet disgruntled. “Will me into your dream. I will come.”

I looked up to him and tried to mentally draw him to me, have him meet Morty and be greeted by the brown ball of happiness I had shared my life with for fifteen years. It was… odd, was the only word for it. In one moment, I was sort of reaching for him, and then next he was just _there_ , standing beside me with a soft hand upon my shoulder. Morty barely spared a glance up, his clouded vision rendering Solas an unimportant blur behind the indistinct face of his mom.

“We meant to get another dog,” I told Solas softly, conscious of the lump in my throat. “Killeen passed away one winter, and we kept Morty for another year and a half after. By the time we were ready to look into rescuing another pregnant mom from a shelter, to raise her pups and find everyone a home but for two or three we kept for ourselves… Patrick’s mom was diagnosed with cancer and his dad had a sudden decline and we were working so much we just didn’t have the time. If we had… it would have been impossible, to abandon them, when the woman came for me.”

“Were you to believe the Chantry, they would tell you all things happen for a reason.”

“My church said much the same. I’m not sure what I think about that anymore.”

Morty stood up, gratuitously sniffed Solas, and then dismissed the elf utterly. I used his fetching stick to push myself to my feet, and then side-armed it across the yard.

The perfect afternoon faded around us, and I found myself standing in what could only be the Fade.

The sky was a sickly green, the landscape a twisted caricature of reality. We seemed to be standing in some kind of bubble, the air visibly distorted in a five-foot radius in all directions around me. It was easy to look through, but still undeniably present. Within the bubble the ground seemed firmer, the air calmer.

I twined my fingers through Solas’. “Tell me again how I know you’re not a demon?”

“You don’t,” he sighed. “Not yet, at least. But you can banish me in the same way you summoned me to your side, at any time.”

I shot him a sideways look, that he returned with a wry smile. “I beg you to not immediately attempt it.”

“So we’re dreaming this,” I said instead of replying.

“Arguably, yes. We’re using the part of our minds that is connected to the Fade.”

“Arguably?”

“I cannot completely rule out the possibility that you are, in some sense, physically here. It is possible you exist simultaneously in both realms, much as everyone did before the Veil was created. Thus, you are as much here are you are in the waking world.”

“So the Veil coming down wouldn’t effect me?”

Solas didn’t like the question, but given how much I didn’t like the entire fucking conversation, he didn’t have much room to complain. He seemed to know that, too. “On the contrary,” he answered quietly, “it would probably have a profound effect on you.”

“Soooo let’s avoid the hypothetical, shall we?” I said, taking a tentative step across the nightmarish landscape.

The bubble moved with us, converting the uneven terrain into flat ground beneath us.

Solas put his free hand to his head. “You should… seek to avoid moving about in that way. The Fade does not respond well to physical reshaping.”

“No?” I aborted the step I had been taking, putting my feet together gingerly. “How should I travel?”

“I am essentially caught in your aura,” Solas said, indicating the bubble. “I have no desire to attempt to break free, as I have no theories on whether that is even possible, or what would happen should I succeed. So, I am your patient prisoner. Anything you would like to see – or like to show me – is possible now, using only the force of your will.”

“Yeah?”

Solas smiled gently. “Yes, da’len.”

“How?”

“It may be easier, at first, to close your eyes. Select a memory, and will yourself into it, as if you were dreaming and selecting that which you wanted to see.”

I closed my eyes, trying to be careful about what I selected. There were of course things I wanted to show Solas, and I tried to narrow my memories down to places I had travelled to. When I opened my eyes, were standing on the deck of a cruise ship, circling tightly in Glacier Bay as a chunk of ice calved off into the water.

His hand tightened convulsively in mine. “What…?”

“We’re on a ship,” I told him. “In the far north of my country. A glacier, a frozen river, runs into the ocean here. These shipping lines bring people here to see it, as there is a lot of money to be made in this sort of tourism.”

As he slowly looked around in wonder, I tried to pin down the layout of the ship in my mind. When Solas again looked to me, I shifted the ship around us in the way we would have walked through it, moving the environment mentally rather than physically.

“You are a fast study,” Solas whispered.

“It seemed like trying to walk was making you uncomfortable,” I answered. “I would not do that intentionally if I could help it.”

We went through the different areas of the ship – the ones I had seen, at least; I had no memory of the engine room and thus could not take him there – and ended in the stateroom Patrick and I had claimed. We stood on the balcony and waited as the ship spun around, putting the glacier back into view.

“This… is remarkable, da’len. Thank you.”

“Two questions,” I said.

“Of course.”

“First, why are there no people? Shouldn’t I be dreaming of people?”

“That is a very complicated answer. In short, no, as your mind didn’t populate the ship. The memory was about the place and the moment, not the people.”

“Shouldn’t Patrick be here? I saw all of this with him.”

Solas frowned. “Then… yes. Again, this is all unprecedented.”

“You don’t know?”

“I do not know, no, da’len.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t remember ever stumping Solas before. “Then, the other question…”

“You’ve already asked three!”

I ignored the quip. “What else would you like to see?”

The question surprised him. “I would like to see anything you care to show me. Perhaps a place where people are intrinsic to the experience?”

The thought that immediately sprang to mind formed around us instantly; I didn’t have time to close my eyes before Glacier Bay disappeared and the 19,000-plus capacity crowd at the Boston Garden emerged around us. The sound was deafening, after the silence of the Bay and the months of nearly pastoral living in Skyhold. My rib cage shook as the band came onstage for their encore.

“What is this?” Solas shouted into my ear.

“Music!” I answered happily.

The people around me were faceless, featureless; they waved their arms and opened their mouths and seemed to be making the noise that existed around me but if I focused, I couldn’t make out their individual voices. No one person seemed to be producing any specific sound. While I studied the “people” around us, the band started to play and the crowd noise plummeted.

 _The young man stands on the edge of his porch. The days were short and the father was gone_.

“This makes you happy?” Solas asked.

I nodded vehemently. “This was my birthday gift a few years back. Tickets to Mumford. They closed with my favorite song. It was incredible, to stand here with all these people and share this moment, this feeling.”

“How many…?” Solas asked, his voice trailing as he looked around.

“Very nearly twenty thousand,” I told him. “Nineteen of those are spectators, the rest are staff and security and crew.”

Solas merely shook his head. “I have seen these numbers in armies only, never in such close quarters, or for such a purpose.”

“Come outside,” I said, and moved the world around us. Seconds later we were gliding down the street in front of the Garden, trapped in the crowd of people making their way to the subway station. I pulled him across the street, to watch the stream of people and spin slowly, taking in the nighttime skyline.

“This… is your city?”

“Boston,” I said with a nod. “The way I will always remember it.”

There were buses and cars shooting down the street, pedestrians everywhere, an air of joviality as people left the concert and headed home or looked for space at a bar. The air had the definite bite of winter to it, but it was crisp and clear. I’m sure, compared to Skyhold, it was disgusting; but this was my memory, and in my memory it was perfect.

“To imagine, all of this… lost…” Solas whispered.

The skyline twitched, and crumbled. A mushroom cloud appeared in the air behind the Garden and the Bunker Hill Bridge collapsed. The air turned heavy, the people vanished. It was too much to bear, and I pulled us away before it could get any worse, hurled us back into Skyhold, into the present. We sat on the roof of my tower and I clutched the wall.

Here, people flitted in and out, temporary ghosts and visions. Guards flickered into view, dozing on patrol or reliving watch from their bunks. There seemed to be a light flickering in Hellen’s tower, so dim as to be dismissed as a trick of the eye.

“Here, there are people,” Solas said, conscious of the pain that caused our retreat. “Here there are dreamers, people whose minds touch upon the Fade as they slumber.”

“Could I find people?” I asked him. “Could we go up to Hellen’s room and bring her along with us?”

Solas shrugged. “The question is not _could you_ do this, but rather _should you_. It is a question of ethics rather than ability. I came looking for you, da’len, and asked to join you. Now that I have, I am helpless to leave.”

“Theoretically,” I corrected.

He allowed the amendment with a smile. “Ethically, I am helpless, as to attempt to disrupt these forces could leave you vulnerable to attack from other denizens of the Fade. Since I suspect you still touch the Fade when you are awake, that vulnerability could be devastating.”

“So me going over and finding Hellen and inviting her along isn’t recommended?”

Solas coughed a laugh. “She would think you a demon and attempt to destroy you. So, no, I would not recommend it.”

“Oh.”

“You could invite Hellen to attempt to find you in the Fade. Or you could tell her while she is awake that you wish to look for her. The anchor allows her to dream herself into the Fade more strongly than most others.”

“Could… could I use this to help people having nightmares?” I asked, hesitantly. “Could I try to draw them out of their bad dreams into a more neutral place?”

“Again, the question is not could, but rather _should_. Your own rest should also be considered. Patrolling Skyhold for unpleasant dreams would very quickly drain you of your stamina in both realms, waking and dreaming.”

“So how do I wake up?”

“First,” he laughed, “you move me back outside the turbulence of your presence. Then, you merely will yourself awake. Everything in the Fade is controlled by Will.”

“I think I understand,” I said. I closed my eyes and pushed Solas onto the other side of the tower. When I opened my eyes, he was gone.

“So,” I said aloud to myself, “now I need to _wake up_.”

 

*

 

I sat upright on the couch, to have hands immediately on my shoulders, keeping me calm and in place.

“Easy, da’len, easy. You have met with success.”

“I told you so,” Cole whispered. Again.

“You did, didn’t you?” I replied, reaching up to cup Cole’s cheek. “Somehow, you’re right.”

“So you can find some plausibility with our theory?” Solas said, releasing his hold on my shoulder to return to the couch across from me.

I sighed. “I have to, don’t I? We just ran around the Fade together.” Cole dropped onto the couch beside me as a horrible sense of dread filled my belly. “That _was_ you, right? I didn’t just take a demon on a joy ride?”

Solas laughed. “It was. You were barefoot in short grass with a dog when first I arrived, wearing _surprisingly_ little.”

“Yes, okay. Good. Whew. What are the chances of a demon masquerading as a friend trying to convince me to let them in?”

“High,” Solas said, his tone deadly serious.

“Fantastic,” I groaned, sinking back onto the couch. “So I’ve got this amazing new toy to play with, but I can’t touch it because it might kill me.”

“In so many words, yes. Remember, however, that banishing a demon in the Fade is an act of will – something you should never experience difficulty with.”

“What about the nightmare demon you distracted to save Hawke and Alistair from in the Fade?”

Solas looked uncomfortable, and stayed almost painfully silent.

“I could have taken him, couldn’t I? I could have just gone along with you and banished everything the entire way.”

“That is, of course, completely theoretical, and not worth testing,” Solas told me, with some palpable anger in his voice. “The risk you would have taken upon yourself is-“

“Easy, ha’hren,” I laughed. “I am a _huge_ fan of my continued survival. I have no desire to become some nutjob demon hunter. I just want to know my limits.”

“Everyone who spends time in the Fade runs the risk of never waking up,” he told me coldly. “You are no different.”

“Duly noted,” I replied.

We were silent for a long time, then. Cole tipped his head to my shoulder, practically humming with happiness. I couldn’t tell if it was from being right, or from the personal success in convincing me. I tilted my cheek to rest against his hair and wrapped an arm around his skinny shoulders. I watched Solas as circumspectly as I could; it was impossible not to notice the rather sour turn his mood had taken. I couldn’t decide if it was from my stated desire to spend more time in the Fade and the associated dangers, or from my suggestion that me having some intrinsic connection to the Fade disproved everything he believed about the necessity of the Veil – and his desire to destroy it.

“He’s asleep,” Solas said softly. He was still staring at nothing in particular, so it took me a moment to realize he was talking about Cole. The young man’s breathing was even and slow, his head limp against my shoulder.

“Have you ever seen him sleep before?”

Solas shook his head. “You are a point of constancy in the mutable realm of the Fade. It is possible that sitting in your aura is the only place Cole feels safe enough to rest. Possibly it is the only place he _can_ rest. I had not considered it before now; I merely accepted that he did not need sleep. It did not occur to me that he might seek it, if only as a reprieve.”

“Should I stay awake?” I asked Solas. “I’m not tired anymore, but I feel like I should be sleeping, since it’s yet dark.”

Solas glanced at the window, more attuned with the sweep of the stars across the sky than I could ever hope to become. “It is some hours before dawn, yet, although we are closer to morning than midnight. You could sleep more if you chose to, but you seem to have truly rested while we wandered the Fade. That is yet another characteristic that sets you apart from most. I do not believe your slumber would disturb his.”

“Who will protect me if Cole is asleep?”

Solas raised an eyebrow. “I am sitting right here, da’len.”

I nodded at Solas, and tilted my head back against Cole’s. I tried to match my breathing to his, and in a few minutes was asleep.


	31. Pt II Ch 4: Joie de Vivre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen finds the words for the new direction she is taking.  
> Also, we take a major step towards... well. The next chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS GUYS GUYS  
> GUYS I GOT ANOTHER ART  
> This is also from the lovely [dissatisfied_doodles](http://dissatisfied-doodles.tumblr.com/) and I love her forever.  
> In case you were wondering, this is Hellen as The Sun.  
> I think it pairs nicely with Gwen as The Moon.

 

 

 

When Hellen woke me up a few hours after dawn, change of clothes tucked under one arm and an indulgent smile on her face, there was no evidence I’d fallen asleep with two men in the room. I was stretched out on the couch, a wool blanket thrown over me. The wine glasses and carafes were washed and put away, the remains of dinner cleared away. Solas and Cole were long gone.

“Dorian should be along soon. We assumed we could still come bathe here in the mornings?”

I nodded, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. “I need to talk to you both, anyways.”

I still didn’t know where anything was in my new rooms, but Hellen had a knack for finding things. In short order she’d dug out the runes, a stack of towels, and the canister of Epsom salt. The water was running, filling the tubs, when I was awake enough to stumble up the stairs and join her.

“I suppose, since I live here now, I can wander around in a towel until I find clothes,” I told her as I tossed a rune into my tub; Hellen had done me the honor of first-tub-full.

Her tub finished filling as I stripped down and eased into the hot water. I was more tired now than I had been when I’d fallen asleep with Cole tucked against my shoulder; it gave me more reason to trust Solas’ warning against too many nighttime travels.

Dorian didn’t arrive until after I’d soaked the soreness out of my shoulders and started scrubbing my hair.

“Love what you’ve done with the place, really,” he simpered as he made his usual flamboyant entrance.

Hellen tossed the rune into his water and then eased back into her tub. “Thanks for joining us.”

“I was… delayed… this morning,” he said, with just a bit more pause than dramatics would call for.

“Ah, finally happen, did it? I wondered,” I paused long enough in washing my hair to watch for his reaction.

My suspicion was confirmed when he flared crimson. “Did _what_ happen?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, I don’t tell. And quite frankly the two of you are perfect for each other.”

He dropped into his tub, causing water to slosh over the lip and drawing a complaint from me. “Hey! I live here, now. Mind the floors!”

With a nonchalant wrist twist, the water vanished off the floor. “You could have saved me a lot of trouble by telling me it would happen this way.”

“The act of observing disturbs the observed,” I quoted to him. “By telling you, I might have negated it.”

“What in the Maker’s name are you two whackjobs going on about?” Hellen asked.

“The Iron Bull and I have… come to an _understanding_ ,” Dorian answered softly.

Hellen turned to stare at me. “And you knew it would happen?”

“It was more likely than _you_ and Bull hooking up,” I answered, a bit defensively. “Nothing’s set in stone, Hellen. You know that.”

I was able to focus on getting clean and letting my mind catch up to the revelations of the last few days while Dorian and Hellen bickered over predestination and when it is appropriate to tell one’s best friend that one is _hooking up_. Hellen’s face seemed to blanch at the wrong moment, and Dorian became aware of the progression of Hellen’s relationship with Josephine, and things tumbled downhill from there.

“I want to try to find you both in the Fade,” I announced when they had both stopped for a moment to catch their breath.

I was met with utter shock. All I could do was laugh.

“I’m sorry to spring that on you. Solas and I talked yesterday, and he taught me how to interact with people in the Fade. I wanted… I wanted to find you two, since you’re mages and you can apparently do that. Hellen should be easy, but Dorian would be a challenge, and I want to learn… it might come in handy? But I had to ask your permission first, so you didn’t think I was a demon or something.”

Hellen blinked – twice – while Dorian sat staring.

“I would be able to show you my world, my memories, and it’s something I want to share with you both. If that’s not okay…”

“No! No! That would be _amazing_ ,” Hellen assured me, recovering faster than Dorian. “Andraste’s ass, Gwen, you’ve got to build up to something like that.”

“You… you walked the Fade? But you’re… you’re not…” Dorian was definitely having a harder time of it.

“Solas thinks… thinks there’s no Veil in my world. That the Fade and the waking world have been mingling, all these years. It’s why he couldn’t approach me when I was unconscious, why he told Cullen I cannot be possessed by demons. He thinks I might exist simultaneously in both places. So he gave me a sleeping draught yesterday and taught me how to wake up in the Fade. And then he taught me how to travel, and I took him to… to… to some of my favorite memories, and I want to do that with you, too.”

“Fasta Vaas,” Dorian murmured. “No wonder Hawke had his dander up around you.”

“Hawke…?”

“Hawke could tell there was something… different… about you,” Hellen quickly clarified. “All the mages you’ve interacted with could. The Veil just feels… weird around you. Not bad. Just weird. Off.”

“That’s something, coming from a blood mage,” Dorian grunted.

“All magic is blood magic, if you really think about it,” I quipped.

They didn’t seem to agree, if the horrified looks on their faces was any indicator. Given the events of _Descent_ hadn’t happened yet, it was probably too soon for the argument. “Nevermind, it was a bad joke.”

“Indeed,” Dorian huffed.

I climbed out of my tub and set the drain tube into the lavatory as I bid a hasty retreat. I wrapped my body in one towel and my hair in another and fled downstairs, determined to put on one of my infirmary uniforms and worry about whatever else Vivienne might have stuffed my rooms with later.

Sera was stretched out across my bed.

“Mornin’, Twee,” she said by way of greeting. “Nice arse.”

“Jesus Christ on a Bike,” I gasped, startled into my native tongue.

“Cripes, nice tits too. I had a question for ya.”

“Right. Right. Shit, Sera, you scared the fuck out of me.”

“At’s a pity. You could use some more fuck in ya.”

“Help me find some clothes? One of my infirmary uniforms, I’m not put together enough to try to reason with Vivienne’s wardrobe decisions this morning.”

Sera rolled off the bed, trotted to a wardrobe set against the wall opposite the living room, and cracked open three doors – three! – before opening the fourth wide. “Found ‘em.”

“Thank the Maker,” I breathed, and handed her my towels in exchange for the uniform she’d pulled out of the wardrobe.

Sera seemed momentarily boggled. “Just like that? Don’t got to do nothin’ special to get ‘em waved in my face?”

“I’m a healer, Sera. They don’t mean anything special when you see them all day every day.”

“What goes on in the infirmary, that its an _all day every day_ thing?”

“Healing,” I answered dryly, and she rolled her eyes.

“Look, I got myself a conundrum,” she said, pronouncing the last word with the same flippant tone usually reserved for Corypheus’ name.

“Who said that was the word for it?” I asked, laughing.

“Viv,” she scoffed. “It’s a alchemy question, yeah? I’ve got a problem with the frostrock what came in from Orzammar and the proportions are off. I need to keep my bees calm but not _dead_ and I thought if Viv’s too uppity up to answer a simple question about chillin’ bees maybe I could ask you, yeah?”

“Ask Dagna,” I said without any hesitation. “She’ll give you an answer three times as good as whatever I cook up, and twice as fast.”

“Dagna?”

“The Arcanist?”

“As if Viv isn’t bad enough. You want me to go talk to some wit calling herself _the Arcanist_?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. In fact, I’ll take you down myself and introduce you.”

“And if I don’t wanna?”

“This is the dwarf who learned Qunlat because she was trying to learn how to make gaatlok,” I countered.

“When can we leave?”

“Let me get Dorian to dry my hair,” I answered with a laugh. “And find out when the war room meeting is. We’re overdue for one.”

“They had two yesterday!” Sera complained, following me back to the stairs.

“Either of you care if Sera comes up?”

“She can do as she pleases, I’m coming down,” Dorian said, quickly matching action to words.

“Dry my hair, Dorian? Please?” I asked as he whisked by.

He paused, his face stony as if he was going to argue, but he seemed to catch himself at the last moment, his face softening. “Right. Of course, Gwennie love, come here by the window.”

Less than a minute later, Hellen was coming downstairs with an armful of damp towels – which she dropped in a pile with my two towels and my dirty clothes, promising there would be someone coming through to clean my rooms later in the day – and the four of us were on our way out the door.

“Come straight to the war room when you’re done in the Undercroft,” Hellen instructed me.

“Yes ser,” I quipped.

She grinned at me and headed for Cullen’s office, to take the shortcut across to the main hall and save her four or five flights of stairs. Dorian stayed with Sera and I into the courtyard, veering left to go exchange some kind of words with Blackwall while Sera and I turned right to take the back way to the Undercroft through the kitchens.

We got to the other side with a sweet roll in either hand and a carafe of spiced tea under her arm. I had three mugs hanging from three fingers, and we had to use our faces and feet to open the doors between us and the Undercroft. More than once we had to stop and lean against a wall or doorframe to stop laughing long enough to pop the door open.

“Gwen!” Dagna called as we tumbled into the Undercroft. “Gwen, I think I’ve made some headway on the sunlight-electricity connection! And I need you to look at my drawing of… oh.” She seemed to only just notice Sera. “Hello,” she said, in a markedly different tone. “Who is this?”

“Sera, Dagna. Dagna, Sera. Here, take a sweet roll. We’ll talk over breakfast.”

Sera and the Arcanist were clearly sizing one another up, but they helped me set out our stolen breakfast spread, and we were quickly sitting cross-legged in a loose triangle on the floor near the forge.

“I brought Sera because she has some questions about the thermal capacities of bees,” I said, and Sera rolled her eyes at my choice of words. “She needs them calm but-“

“The frostrock Josie got me from Orzammar is too pure,” Sera interrupted. “It’s gonna kill my bees, and that’s no good. I need ‘em healthy and _mad_ , not chill and dead. The goal is to get ‘em back in a new jar once they’ve gone and fucked up some beastie for me.”

Dagna was looking at Sera in shock. “You… weaponized… bees?”

Sera shrugged. “They’re easier to raise than wasps. Do more good, too. Wasps are right pricks. Gimme a jar of wasps and I’ll never get ‘em back, but I’ll ruin some fucko’s day.”

Dagna blinked as she slowly tilted her head to the side. I could almost _see_ her worldview shifting. “Steam,” she answered. “Steam works better to calm bees. And it would be easier to produce on the road – just needs some water and some fire.”

Sera’s eyes widened. “Steam! Like the beekeepers, no? I could even get a little pot like they use.”

“I could make you one,” Dagna said with a little shrug. “Do you have a color preference?”

“Red,” Sera answered immediately.

“Done,” Dagna answered.

I pried myself free after about an hour. The three of us moved to the alchemy table to figure out what was going on with Sera’s frostrock supply, and I quickly felt like a third wheel. Dagna and Sera spoke different languages, but they were absolutely talking about the same things, and I could see them tumbling down the path that led to _Sera and her Widdle_.

That, coupled with Dorian and Bull coming to an understanding, was enough to have me grinning openly to myself as I took the side passage back out of the Undercroft and wended my way through the lower levels towards the war room.

I reflected that I should probably be more cautious, given there were likely more Crows either en route to Skyhold or already wandering the halls, looking for me. I had no sense of Cole being anywhere near me, and the hallways were so far removed from the sunlight as to be perpetually black between sporadic lamps.

But I had meant it when I’d told Cullen I had no fear in Skyhold. Even knowing both Solas and the Qun had countless spies continually infiltrating the Inquisition. The Crows were at least an obvious concern now, and Cullen was likely losing sleep over it.

Between him and Cole worrying over me, I couldn’t drum up the concern to be afraid.

Furthermore, I reasoned the attack yesterday was staged out of a sense of haste, as the bodies had been found and security was being stepped up. Maybe there weren’t any more Crows in Skyhold. Maybe the continuous death of their agents was causing a reevaluation of their contract.

I arrived in the war room without incident, but I felt Hellen’s power sweep across me, a magical version of a head-to-toe nursing assessment. Cullen seemed to relax when Cassandra let me into the sealed chamber. Leliana and Josephine both grinned warm welcomes, and I moved to take my place at Hellen’s left.

“Are you going to talk to me about the assassination panic? Or am I just going to find out from Cole?”

Leliana laughed, while Hellen and Cullen sighed dejectedly.

“Cullen despairs of keeping you safe,” Cassandra, surprisingly, interjected. “Hellen wishes to lead a purge of Skyhold. Josephine wants to send for aid – some _Black Shadow_ Crow-killer. And Leliana insists on allowing Cole to continue handling it, since he seems particularly adept.”

“And you?” I asked her when she’d finished her summary.

She smiled. “I recommended you be moved and put under watch. Which, it seems, has already happened.”

I grinned at her. “I think I should spend more time with heavily armed people. I’m running low on books, could I come rob your personal library later?”

Cassandra colored for a heartbeat before returning my smile. “I would like that.”

“How many weeks until Halamshiral?” I asked Josie.

“Eight,” she responded immediately.

“Alright. We only need Cole to keep me alive until then. I’m sure Leliana will unearth the source of this trouble and remove it. Then Josephine will be able to clear up the contract – much as she has for herself, I hear, congratulations – and we can move on with the business of nailing Corypheus to a fucking tree.”

“I fucking love you sometimes,” Hellen told me in Qunlat.

“You better love me _all_ the time, asshole,” I quipped in return.

“Now, now,” Leliana complained. “No conversations at the war table everyone can’t be privy to.”

“You need to learn Qunlat,” I told her.

She seemed surprised. “Is that an offer? Or a hint?”

“Both,” I answered.

My declaration was met with complete silence.

“Look,” I sighed. “Solas went into the Fade and saved them both; Hawke and Alistair _both_ came home alive. That is a massive deviation from canon events. Now I’m being targeted by the Crows and Josephine wants to send for Zevran and _none of this is supposed to happen_. Shit’s different. I tried to keep things the same, and I failed. Hellen’s not supposed to be able to become a spirit healer and Fiona and Alistair never have their chat. I fucked up the story already. I can’t worry about _not changing anything_ anymore. Now I’m going to worry about making sure we win. So, yes, Leliana, you need to learn Qunlat. And yes, I will teach you. Now. Where do we need to send Hellen before Halamshiral?”

It was quickly decided that the Dales were her best bet, to gather intelligence about the civil war in Orlais, and do her best to break up what was left of the fighting. She would leave two days hence for the Exalted Plains, and take Cassandra, Dorian, and Sera with her.

“What else are you willing to share?” Cullen asked, leaning his weight onto his fists on the map table.

Hellen made a show of dragging a chair over for me, as Josephine poured me a drink.

I hesitated. What if I messed things up? What if I made Hellen too weak to…

 _Hellen ripped Alexius in half_ , I reminded myself grimly. _There’s nothing she’s too weak to do. Fuck this wishy washy bullshit_.

“You’re going to get an offer of alliance with the Qun,” I started. Josephine began writing furiously.

“Fuck them,” Hellen snorted.

“Go to the meeting anyways,” I told her sternly. “It sounds like bullshit, and it _is_ bullshit, but you need to go. Not for you, and not for the Inquisition, but for Bull. Which, in the end, will pay dividends you don’t even want to contemplate. I don’t have to tell you that you can’t trust the Qun.”

Hellen nodded. “Got it.”

“Blackwall’s got some tough shit brewing. He’s redeemable. Don’t give up on him.”

“Shit brewing? Is that why I can’t find him?” Hellen asked.

“Fuck,” I answered. “He’s in Val Royeaux. Leliana, you can find everything with almost no trouble now that you know to look.”

“On it,” she said, stepping to the door and calling for a courier.

“Keep on the trail of Samson,” I told Cullen. “You’ll find Maddox, and you’ll find a way to break his armor.”

Cullen clearly had a lot of questions about that, but nobody seemed willing to ask for more than I was offering up.

“And did you write your sister?”

Everyone laughed as Cullen spluttered his protestations. “He did, he did!” Leliana said, leaping to his defense. “She’s been writing him back, no fear.”

“Josie, any luck in finding the pendant for Cole?”

“It is currently en route,” she affirmed.

“Good. Be sure you follow up on it once it arrives,” I told Hellen. “He’s going to need a field trip.”

“He’s not leaving your side,” she argued.

“He has to,” I insisted. “You can have somebody else haul me off on holiday to keep me moving in the meantime if need be, but _Cole has to find his way_. And he can’t do it in Skyhold. You’ll lose him forever if you don’t follow this through to the end.”

She looked like she wanted to argue with me, but she merely nodded, instead.

I glanced at Cassandra. “You’re going to want to get your hands on Lord Seeker Lambert’s book.”

She merely nodded. “I will continue looking.”

“Those are the critical ones,” I said, glancing at the war table. “I think Vivienne has her concern in hand, but she might ask you for help running down reagents, Hellen. Now that Josie’s out of mortal danger most everybody else is settled.”

“What of Hawke and Alistair?” Cullen asked.

I could only shrug. “In the story I know, the one of them that doesn’t _die_ goes to Weisshaupt to try to iron shit out with the Wardens. What’s going to happen with both of them is anybody’s guess. They’re both still here somewhere, I assume?”

I got a sea of confirming nods. I could only shrug. “I maintain that is _not_ my fault.”

“So we send Hellen to the Exalted Plains, while the rest of us prepare for the Masquerade?” Leliana summarized. It was my turn to nod. “I propose we take sirrah Hawke to the Winter Palace, as well as all of Hellen’s team. We leave Captain Rylen, Warden Alistair and Fiona in charge of the protection of Skyhold. And,” Leliana added, eyes flashing, “we make it clear we’re taking Gwen with us, to keep attention away from the keep in our absence.”

“You’re not using Gwen as bait,” Hellen immediately argued. Cullen straightened up from the table angrily.

“No, she’s right,” I said quickly. Josephine was nodding, as was – surprisingly – Cassandra. “I’ll dress as a servant and stay hidden if need be. It might be the only way to lure out who’s gunning for me.”

“If the entire team cannot keep one woman safe in an Orlesian palace, what hope do we have in a war against Corypheus?” Cassandra asked, a bit rhetorically.

“Leaving Lady Gwen at home will allow her would-be murderer to continue his work in our absence. We would be crippled, even if only leaving Cole and one or two others to keep her safe. We need Gwen at Halamshiral, whether or not we use her to lure out the noble responsible for the contract.” Josie was, somehow, writing as quickly as she was speaking. “Since she will already be there, a careful operation to-“

“No,” Hellen and Cullen said at the same time.

“We can discuss it later,” I said standing up.

Hellen, shaking her head, rounded on me. “You are not the person who decides when a conversation is ended in this room, Gwendolyn Murray.”

“Hellen Adaar,” I said, before addressing her in English again, Leliana’s reprimand be damned. “You have already gotten a leg up in this world from my interference. I’ve introduced countless new techniques, I’ve pushed Dagna ahead by light years, and I’ve helped you become a spirit healer. If you lose me at the Winter Palace, it will be because of a choice _I made_ and I need you to respect that. Don’t force me to live this life in fear, wondering when somebody will finally be in the right place at the right time to put a knife in me. I’ve already gotten six months more than I was fated to have; I will _live_ the time I have been given. And by god that means I get to dance at the fucking ball.”

“Dance!” she said in Common, but after a moment began to laugh. “This is stupid. You know that, right?”

I laughed with her. “It goes far beyond stupid into total idiocy,” I agreed, matching her language switch.

“Fine. Josie, teach the stubborn sod how to dance.”

I gave Hellen my best curtsy. “Thank you, sirrah.”

Hellen snorted. “Teach Hawke how to dance, while you’re at it. Void take it, teach the whole Inquisition. We’ll flood the dance floor to keep Gwennie safe.”

Hellen dismissed us shortly thereafter, and I thought to make my way back to my rooms on my own.

Cullen’s hand on my arm brought that idea up short.

“Please explain to me why you think going to Halamshiral is a good idea,” he said in a tone that was almost too reasonable.

“You’re angry,” I guessed.

“I am trying my best not to be, since I was just utterly outvoted in there.”

I allowed him to tuck my hand through his elbow, and he escorted me through the keep.

“I don’t know if you want to hear my thoughts on this, Cullen,” I told him.

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t,” he contended.

I sighed. “No, I mean, I don’t think my reasoning is going to make you feel any better.”

“I can’t imagine feeling any worse about it.”

I twisted my face into a caricature of a frown while I tried to find a good way to explain my _joie de vive_ to Cullen in a way that wasn’t horribly cruel. Or overly suggestive.

A _little_ suggestive wouldn’t be that bad, though. Maybe.

“Hellen asked me not to build up any more walls,” I said, forgoing careful tact and just launching in. “She said I have been emotionally unavailable… wait. No. She said the better phrase was _emotionally stunted_.” I paused while Cullen laughed, and couldn’t help but note he (rather unchivalrously) made no attempt to argue the point. “Yes, thank you for that. _Any_ ways. She wants me to make a conscious effort to _feel_ , to not just put uncomfortable thoughts in a box and then put it to the side. Or launch the whole box out a window, _a la_ Cole and the Crows. And I’m trying very hard to take her advice. I talked to her about… about a lot of things I’ve never talked about before. I acknowledged a lot of fears I’ve repressed. Vivienne sort of beat that bit into me… how I haven’t really _handled_ anything in my life, just tried to continue on like nothing had ever happened. I took advice from Solas, and admitted he might have a better idea of who and what I am than I do. In a way, I think what I need to do is embrace all aspects of life, even the negative. I want to _live_ while I’m here, with this extra time I’ve been granted. And that’s what I told Hellen. I don’t want to be kept at arms reach, on a shelf.”

Cullen was almost painfully silent. I was convinced that what I was telling him was the exact opposite of what he needed to hear to be willing to let me risk myself.

“I’ve lost so much… it would be so easy to withdraw, to hide, to never feel anything or love anyone ever again. Hellen told me… begged me, really… not to take that path. She’s right, too; we all know she’s right. If something’s going to kill me, Cullen, I want to ride out to meet it. And I want to enjoy the ride.”

We were standing on the bailey wall outside his office and he drew us to a halt. I watched him select and discard a dozen responses before turning me gently to face him.

“I find I have no desire to throw myself back into work just yet,” he said with an odd darkness to his tone. “I think I would rather be literally anywhere else than my desk.”

“Solas asked me to go to the shrine to Andraste,” I offered, not bothering to mask my confusion. “I don’t understand why, but I have no reason to disregard the suggestion. Would you be willing to show me where it is?”

Cullen closed his eyes, drawing several slow breaths before answering. “I would be delighted to. This way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, ALL THE SHIPS  
> Did we get most of the good ones crammed in here?  
> Adaar/Josephine  
> Dorian/Bull  
> Sera/Dagna  
> And a shout out to the HMS Gwellen


	32. Pt II Ch 5: Andraste's Ankle Mole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which one very specific revelation throws a monkey wrench into everything, and leads to some questionable logic that _nobody_ is going to be mad at Gwen for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm home sick today, and I need cheering up. I decided to jump the posting schedule so people would leave me comments. Take pity on a girl and leave me some love. <3

Cullen seemed to be struggling with something as we walked slowly through the keep. He took me back through Solas’ antechamber and through the main hall, and from there into the side passage that led out to the gardens and, eventually, the courtyard. There were people everywhere, and we spent a lot of time weaving through the standard throng that had accumulated in the _noble_ areas of Skyhold. The long hallway that ran alongside the garden and served as a porch was thick with _honored guests_ , and I tried to draw Cullen into conversation to help avoid being caught by someone who wished to speak to us. Neither of us spent much time in the areas generally populated with Josephine's visitors, and it was easy to feel overwhelmed under their gazes. He didn’t seem to notice my effort, much less any of the people we passed around, so distracted was he by whatever inner demon he was grappling.

We got as far as the door to the shrine when a messenger caught up to Cullen and dragged him back to work. I didn’t catch much of the actual message, but it was explained as a summons by Hellen. He was needed to assist with the Blackwall situation that had arisen. I assured him that it was an important interruption. He looked genuinely miserable as he deposited me at the door. “Forgive me, Gwen, it seems my truancy has been detected.”

“Another time, Cullen. Thank you for helping me find this place.”

He looked like there was more he wanted to say – much more – but he allowed the courier to draw him away.

I let myself into the room, expecting a glorified closet with the statue of Andraste centered towards the back. What I found, instead, was a rather impressive little chapel, complete with four rows of pews that could likely sit 3 or 4 dozen worshippers. There was a small lectern at the front to one side to serve as a pulpit, and a bank of candles on the other. Centered at the back was the monolithic golden statue of Andraste.

Mother Giselle was the only person present. Which was good for me, because it meant the witnesses to my shock were at a minimum.

“What the actual fuck,” I hissed, my feet carrying me towards the Bride of the Maker’s shrine unconsciously.

“I beg your pardon?” Mother Giselle gasped.

“It’s the same,” I told her. “The exact same-“

“As the shrine to Andraste in Haven, yes.” she said, directing a rather patronizing smile at me. “It is a remarkable find, a blessing, really, after the statue in Haven was lost. There were four such likenesses known in Thedas; if the one in Haven can be saved the number will be _five._   Havard was known to have put a pinch of Andraste’s ashes in the first golden statues made, so that her exact likeness would be preserved. The others are in Denerim, Val Royeaux, and Jader.”

“So this… this is exactly what Andraste looked like?” I breathed.

Mother Giselle’s patient head nod was visible in my peripheral vision. I could not take my eyes from the golden woman.

It was the mole on her ankle that convinced me.

When I’d seen her bare feet on the poured concrete of my garage floor, I’d thought it was a spot of mud. Closer inspection had shown it to be a mole. _This_ mole, the mole on the ankle of the statue of Andraste.

This is where I had seen her, this is why the memory Hellen brought back to me had seemed so familiar.

I was on my knees at her feet, Mother Giselle’s arms around my shoulders, and all I could look at was slight crinkle at the corners of the statue’s eyes, the crows feet that spoke of wisdom so far beyond the years on the otherwise smooth face surrounded by a halo of blond hair.

I had been brought to Thedas by Andraste herself.

 

*

 

I knelt at her feet for hours.

Andraste wasn’t supposed to be real.

She was a simpleton, a young girl who saw something terrible in the woods, and was scarred by it for life. She was married off for political gain, and spent her time lost in song. She had visions, and told people she was speaking to God. She gave them stories that weren't true, lied about the creation of the world and the Veil and the nature of spirits, turned their people to a purpose that suited her very-mortal husband. 

We had diagnoses for that in my world.

And yet, this woman was the woman who had appeared in my garage.

And _how_  had she appeared in my garage – she clearly had not come in the normal way. She was untouched by the storm. She likely left the same way I had, by portal to another world. Which brought me right back to the first thought, that _she is not supposed to be real_.

How had nobody else recognized her?

With everyone in the tower, with _Leliana_ in the tower, how had they not recognized the woman as the statue in the Chantry? Leliana and Vivienne had both been in Val Royeaux; even if they hadn’t noticed the statue in the Haven Chantry they _had_ to have seen the one in the Orlesian capital. Hell, Leliana had been in Denerim, how hadn’t she seen it there?

And if they had seen it, what had they seen in my memory that was so different from my perception that they would not draw the comparison? And what had _Solas_ seen, that he was able to identify it?

And how the bloody hell was she able to _fetch_ me out of my garage, when _she wasn’t real_?

In the end, a messenger was sent for Hellen, who was drawn away from her preparations to race to Val Royeaux and intercept Blackwall.

“You cannot be serious,” she said to Mother Giselle as she strode into the room.

“She will not move,” Mother Giselle answered.

Hellen came to a stop by my side. “I really need to get to Val Royeaux, Gwen. I could be on the road right now. Shouldn’t Leliana or Josephine come help with your religious crisis? Even Cassandra would be a better option.”

“Look,” I told her. I pointed at the mole.

“So they gave the statue a mole,” Hellen groaned. “Can this wait until I get back?”

“Hellen. This is where I knew her from,” I said in English.

The language switch gave her pause. “Where you know who from?”

“The woman. The woman who _fucking sent me here_.” I glanced briefly at Mother Giselle, who was giving me the blank-eyed stare of _I don’t speak your language_. “Hellen, this is an exact replica of Andraste. Made with her ashes. This is the woman from my fucking garage.”

“I…” Hellen stuttered, a visible tremor in starting in her hand. “I didn’t see her as well as you did. She was so indistinct in your memory… Varric says he couldn’t see anything clearly in my memory from the Fade, and it was the same for us all in yours. Sounds were clear, and vision didn't seem off at the time, but as soon as the memory was ended… We couldn’t really see her, not this well… I only knew she was blond because that's how you keep referring to her.”

“The mole on her _god damn ankle_ ,” I hissed. “Did you get the idea she was too clean for having just come in from a thunderstorm? And then there was maybe a speck of mud but _no that’s just a fucking mole_.”

Hellen started to nod. “I did. I do remember getting that thought from you. It was… so disorienting, seeing the world from your perspective. But that thought… I do remember that thought…”

I turned and pointed at the mole again. “She’s not supposed to be _real_. She got so much wrong. Her whole story of creation was fucking bogus. How the fuck did she _bring me here_ when she’s _not real?_ ”

“Wait.” Hellen grabbed my shoulders and dragged me to one of the pews, dropping her voice now that she knew exactly why I needed to talk to _her_ about this… in a language few could understand. “Wait. What do you mean, not real?”

“Jesus, you’re not supposed to know any of this yet. But the elvhen gods… _they_ were real. Well, they weren’t _gods_ per se… but the Creation story the Chantry tells isn’t correct. The Veil was created long after elves were running around on Thedas. And the Veil was… was…”

…created by Solas, who had sent me here, sent me to this room to see this statue and have this revelation.

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” I covered my face with my hands. “That ratfink mother fucker _set me up_.”

“Gwen,” Hellen said, giving my shoulders a shake. “Gwen, _what the actual fuck is going on here_?”

“I don’t know anymore,” I answered, honestly. “I thought I knew, and then this happened, and for a second I thought I knew something else, but they’re both wrong and _I don’t know what’s real anymore_.”

“Because you saw this woman in your memory,” she clarified gently.

“Yes.”

“The person you need to talk to about this is Leliana,” Hellen advised. “She’s the best one to cope with moral and religious ambiguity.”

“That’s the damn truth,” I laughed, shaking my head a bit.

“Are you going to be alright?”

I shivered. “I think so. I need… I need some air.”

Hellen switched back to Common. “Alright, let’s get you some air, then.”

“Is everything alright, your Worship?” Mother Giselle asked Hellen.

“She’s confused, is all,” Hellen reassured the priestess. “She followed a different faith in her world and she’s having a hard time coming to terms with the loss of connection with the god of her homeland.”

“Of course,” Mother Giselle seemed completely convinced. “I understand a crisis of faith. Please, make sure she knows she can see me at any time.”

“Sure thing,” Hellen said over her shoulder as she pulled me out of the chapel. “I’ll make sure she is told that when she’s come back to herself. It’s been a rough week, after all.”

“Of course,” Giselle demurred, as Hellen kicked the door shut behind us. With a quick bend and a twist of her arm, I was thrown over her shoulder and she set off through the winding corridors of Skyhold.

For the very first time in memory, I didn’t mind being dangled like a sack of potatoes. I covered my head with my arms and gave in to the chaos in my brain.

I had thought things were making sense. I had thought I had pieced together what made me different, what my purpose was.

Now I was in worse shape than ever before.

“Christ, it was simpler when I didn’t know anything.” I muttered angrily in English.

“The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence,” Hellen reminded me.

“Wait, you have that saying here?”

“You had that saying back home?”

I went limp out of exasperation. “Fuck it, I’m done.”

“You’re not going up to your room to sulk alone. Who am I dropping you off with?”

“Leliana,” I answered immediately. “Leliana will help keep this quiet.”

“Quiet?” Hellen echoed, taking the stairs to the rookery two at a time.

I switched back to English, dropping my voice to be sure it wouldn’t carry down the stone stairwell. “I have zero desire to be branded the Herald of Andraste.”

Hellen almost tripped on the stairs, before beginning to curse – loudly and in multiple languages.

Leliana was on her feet when we reached the rookery. “What’s wrong, Hellen?”

She set me down in front of her Spymaster. “Everything.”

 

*

 

Hellen left almost immediately, in a rush to get to Blackwall while there was still time to save him from the headsman. I could tell she wasn’t happy about it – Hellen was absolutely the sort of person who would let Blackwall hang – but I’d told her he was redeemable and she trusted my judgment.

One more person saved.

It took an hour, between messengers arriving and Leliana's sensitivity to my not wanting anyone to overhear, but I eventually told my story to the Nightingale. She confirmed what Hellen had told me in the chapel - she didn't have a clear image of the woman who had appeared in my garage, but once I told her about the statue in the chapel her eyes widened and she agreed that what she could remember of the resemblance was uncanny.

“This is a disaster,” she told me flatly.

“No shit,” I answered.

“We assigned that title _far_ too prematurely,” she continued.

“I know... wait. What?”

“Clearly we gave it to the wrong person.”

“No. No. Fuck you, Leliana, _no_ , that’s not why I brought this to you.”

“Is it not?”

“No. It’s not. I brought this to you because you know what it is to have your faith rattled.”

Leliana took a slow, loud breath. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“I had very good reason to believe Andraste was not real. Oh, she was a person… she was an actual historical figure. But her visions from the Maker, her vision of Creation and the Void: none of that could possibly be real. There are too many things that contradict for the Chant to be literally true. And I won’t tell you the things I thought I knew to support that, because they’re _apparently wrong_ and now I don’t know _anything_.”

“I see,” she murmured. ”And that would, by extension, call into doubt everything you believe to know about the future.”

“Right,” I sighed, sinking into a chair.

“Except that is, as you would say, _bullshit_ ,” Leliana continued in a mild tone. “Because _clearly_ your information is good. You have been wrong on so few things as to make your errors more remarkable than your successes. And your errors all spring from interventions you have initiated, willingly or not. If the woman you met in your world _is_ who you believe it to be, and she has been interfering in your world to create people _like you_ who have knowledge _like yours_ , then it stands to reason that you have the beliefs you do because _she wanted you to_. If she wanted you to think she wasn't real, wanted you to think the Chant was false, then it must have been for a good reason.”

“So the person from the game twisted the information in the game so that people who played the game would have the wrong information about her, for when we were brought into the world of the game to try to change things somehow? And I’m talking about this with someone _from the game_. Leliana, that’s too meta _even for me_.”

She laughed, a beautiful little trilling sound, and passed me the flask she pulled from her breast pocket.

“Flames of Our Lady?” I guessed upon sniffing the cap.

“It seemed apropos.”

I took a swig that burned all the way down, and was grateful for it.

“What do we do?”

“Nothing,” Leliana shrugged. “We continue on as if this information did not come to light. It currently serves no purpose, so we will file it away until it does. It would change little, regardless; the assumption was made by those in the library and my own scouts that the woman who sent you here was either Andraste or one of her agents, much as had happened with Hellen. Your confirming it would only add fuel to the fire and draw loyalty from Hellen. That said, we should share it with the other advisors in case they see an angle I do not.”

“Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll tell Cullen. You tell Josephine. And we’ll keep this whole fucked up thing quiet.”

“I envy you, you know,” she said as we made our way down the stairs.

“Oh?”

“Your crisis of faith comes from finding out something you believed false was real. My crises always came from finding out something I believed real was false.”

“I suppose my point, Leliana,” I said gently as we paused before parting ways at the bottom of the stairwell, “is that everything you’ve ever believed _was_ real. There is a woman out there who is arranging our lives to a greater purpose, someone who is meddling in our affairs for a reason we don't understand. You are here, where you are, for some unfathomable reason just as Hellen and I are.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “You do not believe that.”

“Quite the contrary. I _wish_ I did not believe that. If I thought your beliefs false, I would have an easier time navigating this world.”

She stayed in place as I walked away. Solas’ chamber was still empty – which was rapidly becoming suspicious – and I headed toward Cullen’s office. I was surprised to find that night had fallen while I was upstairs with Leliana. Cullen’s office was dark when I peeked in – he could be anywhere – and I gave up the quest for the day.

I let myself back into my new rooms, and spent the rest of the evening carefully going through everything that had been placed inside the closets and cupboards, learning the new accessories to match my new lease on life and thinking about anything _other than_ the secrets of the universe.

 

*

 

I marched up to Cullen’s office the next morning, determined to fulfill my part of the deal with Leliana; I wouldn’t have to tell Josephine so long as I confessed to Cullen that I believed I had been literally sent to his world by the wife of his god.

I needed to not think about it in those terms.

Cullen’s office was dark, his desk accumulating a pile of sealed missives and a stack of ledgers. I risked a quick climb up the ladder to his bedroom – yup, _hole in the ceiling_ – and saw the covers tucked in tightly, the pillows fluffed and stacked precisely. If I expected to find _this_ soldier’s bed unmade, I was a fool.

I didn’t want to stop and ask one of the patrolling guards for his location – in case his being gone wasn’t general knowledge – so I made my way back up to the rookery.

“He went with Hellen,” Leliana said dismissively. “She took him to Val Royeaux both to scout the roads and to assist with Blackwall’s release.”

“Oh, fuck, I knew that,” I muttered, leaning heavily against the cold stone walls. Autumn was rapidly descending, and I was dreading nothing more than the return of the snows. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“What else is weighing on your mind?” Leliana asked. She pointedly looked around the room, as if to assure me that we were alone.

I didn’t want to talk to Leliana… about anything. Which, I decided, was why I would.

“I don’t deal with things,” I told her, trying not to sound like the syllables were forced. “When things happen that I don’t like, I don’t process them, and accept them, and incorporate them into my self concept. I dig a hole, bury them, and walk away. I don’t come back and visit. I try to not even remember. I _have to_ deal with Patrick, with my family, with my _world_ , all vanishing. I cannot be the person I once was when literally everything around me is fundamentally different.”

I sighed and let my head _thump_ against the wall. “And I suck at it.”

Leliana nodded thoughtfully. “I assume this is a tendency you’ve only recently identified in yourself?”

“If by ‘identified in myself’ you mean ‘had Vivienne bleed out of me,’ then yes. But it’s something I have a long and shitty history with. And she was right… it’s not healthy. The sort of walls I built around myself inevitably fail, and that’s probably why I _lost my shit_ when I got my memory back. I need to _stop_. I’m trying to make it a challenge for myself: whenever I think _this is a thought for another day_ I will immediately stop everything I’m doing it and follow that thought to its natural conclusion.”

“Which is, in turn, making you a bit scatter brained,” she surmised.

I nodded.

“Much as I encouraged Cullen to continue taking lyrium in the name of the greater good, so would I like to encourage _you_ to minimize these thought experiments, so as to put the Inquisition above your personal needs.” I felt my jaw drop in shock, but she didn’t pause to let me explode. “That said, I was apparently _horribly_ wrong, and Cullen’s recovery from lyrium has made him a better leader, a better role model, and a better friend. Thus, if you would be bettered in the immediate future by being a bit scattered now, _by all means_ continue.”

“I… wasn’t looking for your permission, really,” I told her.

Her smile was broad and genuine. “I’m glad to hear it.”

 

*

 

I managed to keep myself occupied while waiting for Hellen and Cullen to return. There were a few times I found myself pacing the top of my tower, and I quickly distracted myself by digging through my grand list of _shit I don’t want to think about_.

I came to grips with the necessity of the ambiguity surrounding my family in the Midwest: they would assume I was dead, and I had to accept that I would never know how they died.

…and I said _how_ and not _if_ because all men die, in the end.

I dug through my feelings regarding my sterility and decided that I was old enough in Thedas for it to not be an issue, anyways. Besides, getting pregnant – not to mention actually being on my period – in a world without antibiotics and vaccines was too horrible to consider. Furthermore, If I had carried my one ill-fated pregnancy to term, I would not have been able to come to Thedas. Hellen’s assertion that she and I were saved for a purpose made accepting that loss simultaneously harder and easier. I was alive because of it, and so I could be grateful. I was having these amazing experiences, so I could be _grateful_.

But the implication stood that I lived through that terrible point in my life – _my_ _child had died_ – at the behest of the woman who had brought me here. The blond enigma who orchestrated my learning of and eventual travel to Thedas would thus be responsible for the car accident that cost me so dearly.

 _Fuck that meddling bitch_.

I recognized the anger to be healthy, and I let it stand.

Assuming it _was_ Andraste – which was also becoming easier to swallow the longer I dwelled on it – meant I could absolutely empathize with Leliana’s angry monologue from the beginning of DA:I. She seemed far less crazy, even.

If I embraced the idea that I had been _planted_ here, that I had been intentionally selected and groomed to serve some other purpose in Thedas – and that was her word, not mine; _purpose_ – then it became difficult to escape the  possibility that she’d done everything in her power to endear Cullen to me before I’d met him.

_I will send you someplace where you will be embraced, so that these memories do not destroy you when you reclaim them._

I’d held a candle for Cullen for six damn years. Patrick and I had joked about it, but the joke was only comfortable because it was an impossibility. Cullen was digital, he was _fiction_ , and so he was palatable because he was _created_ to be. He was the male equivalent of the woman in the red dress from The Matrix: designed just to make you look.

To come here and find he was _real_ had been a hell of a shock to my system. He was supposed to be too good to be true.

But maybe he was presented as such, _to make me look_.

Following that thought down the rabbit hole left me with the possibility that I was _meant_ to be in love with him.

And thus I was a _fucking idiot_   for shutting him down.

Whether or not that was actually the plan, the fact remained that I was a widow, I’d been alone for six months, and I’d had a thing for Cullen since before I thought he was real. I’d had confirmation from multiple sources that the feeling was – or at least, _had been_ – mutual. The question stopped being whether I wanted to pursue something with Cullen. Hellen had, after all, threatened to lock us in a cell together until we reached that conclusion, so jumping past that was perhaps healthiest.

No, the question became whether it would be fair to Cullen for me to make the attempt.

I made and discarded a dozen plans for how best to determine whether Cullen even was still interested, whether he had ever been more than merely _interested_ , whether he had the time or energy or willingness to even make the attempt, whether he had taken a page from Hellen’s book and simply moved on…

…but in the end, the only option was to lay it all on the table.

I needed to bite the bullet and just talk to the man.


	33. Pt II Ch 6: Gwenny Murray and the No-Good Very Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because sometimes people are stupid.  
> And sometimes you have to punch stupid people in their stupid faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In other news, [Chanterie](http://chanterie.tumblr.com/) and I cut a deal. She produced the lovely rendition of Higgins reading over on [Chapter 51 of Higgins' Song](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3662928/chapters/9313641) and in exchange I'm going to post a new chapter every other day for the next week.  
> Today you're getting this, which is maybe one of my favorite things I've ever written. Another update on Saturday the 12th!

I found myself counting down the hours until Cullen and Hellen might return to Skyhold. I haunted Josephine’s office, dogged Leliana’s steps as I constantly waited for news. This led to me being present when other news came in, and I found myself weighing in more freely on the relative importance of worldwide events. Troop movements in the Exalted Plains were high priority, as were early reports of earthquakes near the Storm Coast, while three or four dozen other missives were determined to be minor, as long as they were handled quickly. If either Josie or Leliana were annoyed, they never let on; if anything, they both seemed thrilled to see more of me, and to see me take a larger interest in the day-to-day running of the Inquisition. I was starting to act more like an advisor and less like an occasional guest to the war room. I suspected they were both fully aware of what I was waiting to hear, as well. When Leliana got the raven from Hellen announcing their estimated time of arrival back in Skyhold, I was the third person she told.

I was waiting for Cullen in his office when he and Hellen rode back from Val Royeaux. Blackwall – Thom Ranier, I supposed – was in manacles amongst the honor guard. I knew Hellen intended to judge him, but the manacles struck me as a bad sign.

The worse sign was the way Cullen’s face _did not change_ when he found me sitting at his desk. He did not look well, with slightly sunken eyes and an unhealthy pallor. The first words out of my mouth were an inquiry about his health.

“I assure you, my headache is not currently a problem,” he said, courteously but not with the friendly tone I was used to. He dropped his saddlebags roughly by the ladder to his second floor on his way across the room. “Do not feel as though you need to wait on me; as you can see, I have much to catch up on from my absence.”

It was a dismissal.

He was mad at me?

“I didn’t feel I needed to _wait_ on you,” I answered slowly, not attempting to hide my confusion. “I had a number of things I wanted to discuss with you, and was excited for your return.”

He stood at the edge of his desk, far out of arm’s reach, and made it abundantly clear he was merely waiting for me to vacate his desk so he could get back to work. Once I realized the reason he was impatiently tapping his fingers and taking stock of the ledgers on his desk, I quickly rose and darted around to the other side of the room. Cullen gave me a quick nod of thanks and then dropped into the chair and got immediately to work.

I hesitated, torn between fight and flight. I couldn’t fathom why Cullen was mad at me. Even though he couldn’t possibly know I was there to try and discuss whatever it was _we were_ , he’d never been so short with me, even when he was overworked. As I stood there, blankly watching him work, I became more convinced that he was operating under some kind of misunderstanding.

“May I ask what I have done to offend?” I ventured, wanting more information before I came down on either side of the fence.

Cullen sighed. “Might we have this discussion another time? I believe Hellen wants you to witness the judging of _Thom Ranier_ ,” he said the name with a bit of a sneer. “The air is changing, so please be sure the door closes securely behind you; the draft is bad for the books.”

Something small and angry flared to life in my chest at this second dismissal, and the instinct to _fight_ won out.

“Alright, _asshole_ ,” I said, striding forward to grip the back of the chair I normally sat in when I visited. His head snapped up from his work. “The last time we spoke, you walked me to the Shrine of Andraste and got called away. I’m not perfect, but I haven’t had an _opportunity_ to do anything to piss you off since then. So if you’re mad at something else, don’t take it out on me. And if you’re mad at _me_ , have the balls to tell me.”

He made no move. His expression did not shift. But the quill snapped in half in his hand.

It took everything I had to not react.

“I just spent the better part of eight days on the road with the Inquisitor to and from _Val Royeaux_ ,” the sneer came back with his pronunciation of the Orlesian capital. “Hellen could have spent that time cutting down on the amount of red lyrium in the world. She could have spent it suppressing the war in the Dales. I could have spent that time readying our honor guard for our trip to Halamshiral, or preparing the keep for the winter. Instead, we were in bloody _Orlais_ , spending diplomatic currency _we didn’t have_ to rescue a bloody _murderer_  who _didn’t want to be rescued_. And why were we doing this? For no other reason than _you told us to_.”

He curled both hands into fists and pressed his knuckles into the desktop, pushing himself to his feet. The splintered quill slipped, forgotten, to the floor.

“So _forgive me_ if I wasn’t overwhelmed with joy when I found you here. _Forgive me_ for not wanting to have this discussion with you when it was yet so fresh in my mind. But since you’ve _insisted_ on my having the _balls_ to tell you, pay me the same courtesy: what in the Maker’s name was so important about saving _Thom bloody Ranier_? What is he to you?”

There was a twist in his lip, a barb in his voice, that asked the question his words skirted around. The implication that I wanted Blackwall saved because I loved him, or desired him, or was already sleeping with him, was heavy in his voice if not his phrases. I fought for a moment to catch my breath, and keep my eyes from spilling over. I would _not_ cry. I would _not_.

“First,” I said softly, pressing my fingertips into the wood at the back of the chair, “he’s done nothing but atone for _years_. When Hellen found him, he was training villagers how to protect themselves, protect their _families_. His work as _Blackwall_ has done more good than Thom Ranier ever did ill. And don’t you _dare_ tell me that one evil act taints a man forever, because if so _every fucking templar in Kirkwall should have been hung_.”

Cullen’s eyes flew wide, but the hurt was quickly hidden by a surge of rage. I didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“Second, Blackwall is a part of the Inquisition, has bled for this organization, and if _his_ past can get him killed, there’s little hope for probably _half_ your forces. I dare you to tell me not one of our templars, not one of our _mages_ , killed anyone in the war before the Breach opened.”

His teeth clenched as he swallowed, and I forged onward.

“Third - and last – I wanted Hellen to save him because _I need him_. I need to know a person who watched a man die, who turned their back and fled the ruins of their life, can be redeemed. I need to know that the second life a person builds can _last_. I need to know that Thom Ranier can _exist_ after making the call that ended those lives, because I need to know if Gwen Murray can exist after turning her back on everything and everyone she ever loved. I don’t need him because I’m fucking him, because I’m _not_. I don’t need him to _do_ anything. I need him because if he fails, _what fucking hope do I have_?”

Cullen’s face went utterly blank, and he slowly sank back into his chair. The anger was gone, replaced by guilt and pain. It was too much to look at, but I was too angry to look away.

“In other news,” I gritted, straightening up from the chair and crossing my arms, “Leliana wanted me to tell you that I positively identified the blond woman who sent me here, and whoever she is, her exact fucking likeness is recreated in gold in the chapel. I don’t know what that means to me, or the Inquisition, and I sure as shit don’t know what it means to you, but I was reeling from it and hoping to get some other opinions. So when you’re willing to be civil to me again, even if it’s only as two members of the Inquisition having a reasonable conversation over the table in the war room, let me tell you where I _won’t_ be.  
“I won’t be alone. I won’t be moping around waiting for you to come find me. I won’t be praying at the feet of that _fucking_ statue and I won’t be hiding in Hellen’s rooms crying about being a widow. I’ll be with Cole, or Sera, or Dorian, or _Blackwall_. I’ll be with people who value my input. I’ll be with people who don’t assume that just because I don’t want someone to _die_ I must be riding their face. And if you want to _be_ one of those people, if you want to be my _friend_ , you’re welcome to pull your head out of your ass and _try_ to fucking find me.”

I spun on my heel and headed for the door as Cullen surged out of his chair and barked, “Wait!”

I did not pause. I did not turn. And I made _damn sure_ the door closed securely behind me.

If the door handle came off in my hands, Solas’ insistence on the _power of my_ _will_ was surely to blame. I tossed the curved hunk of brass over the wall without glancing back.

I stormed across the bailey wall into the antechamber. I was in no mood to speak to Solas, but I was in less of a mood to take the long way around.

Solas was, strangely, absent. I counted backwards in time and realized I hadn’t seen him in _days_.

If anything, that made me even more angry.

I was an _idiot_ who hurt Cullen. The barb about Kirkwall templars, at least, was probably completely unnecessary.

Cullen was an _idiot_ who got angry before just asking me what the fuck was going on.

Solas was a _prick_ who taught me about the Fade, sent me to make the revelation about Andraste, and then fucking _vanished_. And I was too much of an _idiot_ to realize he was _gone_. And he wasn’t _supposed_ to be _gone_ yet, so his absence was probably _also my fucking fault_.

So when I turned the corner and saw the vapidly enamored expression on Varric’s face and the thinly veiled sneer on the features of the dwarven woman he spoke to, the last ounce of my personal sense of dignity snapped like a dry twig.

She saw me coming, gave me a once over, and then with a subtle eye roll _dismissed_ me, looking pointedly away as if I was beneath her.

It was the _wrong day_ to dismiss me.

“Bianca Davri,” I said as I took a wide corner around the table, to come up behind her.

Varric was no fool, even now, although he was perhaps a bit slow on the uptake. He saw it coming but was in no position to prevent it.

Bianca turned when she heard her name, the surprise on Varric’s face registering as she spun to meet me.

I planted my foot, pivoted with my hip, and punched her square in her perfect fucking nose.

Her face was even with my shoulder, and my big brother had spent countless hours perfecting my technique when I’d come home from grade school with a shiner from a bully in the class ahead of me. So when her eyes rolled up as her neck snapped back and she crumpled to the floor in the heap, I was the only person in the room not shocked.

I snorted and turned to Varric, prepared to explain to him exactly how badly his lady love had fucked up the entire red lyrium situation, and instead found the _other_ Bianca pointed at my face.

Before I could even stop to wonder whether or not he’d actually do it, my vision went blue and my skin prickled, as if the air temperature around me had dropped. Varric cast a sour look at the balcony, and I realized _Vivienne had put a barrier on me_.

With a shrug, Varric moved his finger to the trigger, as if saying _might as well_.

I had more faith in Vivienne than I did in _anything_ named ‘Bianca.’ I put my arms out to the sides, palms up, in an open invitation. Remembering Cassandra and Krem, I tipped my chin up and made the now-familiar _come at me_ gesture.

But before I could learn whether a barrier would stop a nearly point-blank shot from a crossbow, I was airborne, and then dangling over someone’s shoulder.

“Put me down, asshole,” I hissed.

“No,” Blackwall answered.

It was not a voice I expected. “I can _take him_.”

“No,” he said again.

“You son of a…” I struggled for a moment, and then saw Bianca was slowly leveraging herself off the floor with the back of a chair. Varric hurried to put his crossbow back on safety and assist the woozy dwarf to her feet.

“Dishonor on you!” I called in English, dropping my voice to as menacing a tone as I could manage. “Dishonor on your family! _Dishonor on your cow!”_

Blackwall kicked the door shut, and I saw he’d carried me into Josephine’s office. Or, rather, I _thought_ he had. Instead of going in, though, he turned and took the stairs down into the lower levels. A few turns later, we were in the small cell that used to be my home. I was offhandedly dropped on the cot, and the faux Warden lit the candle I’d left on the desk.

“Before we delve into any of the rest of that shit show, what were you howling at her as I hauled you away?"

I shrugged self-consciously. “It’s a… a joke, really, back home. What did it sound like?”

“Possessed,” he promptly answered.

“Perfect,” I said with a smirk. “It, um. It doesn’t translate well.”

“As you will,” he sighed. “Now. What did I just walk into?”

I sighed. “I am a monumental fuckup,” I confessed dejectedly.

Blackwall coughed a laugh. “That calls for a drink.”

Thirty minutes later, after I had showed Blackwall where the private stock was being kept, in one of the only utilized rooms on the third level beneath the main hall, we were sitting on either end of my old cot, backs to the wall, with a haphazard pile of bottles heaped between us. We each grabbed one at random, opened, drank, and exchanged.

“Now,” Blackwall sighed. “Any reason why you leveled a dwarf in the main hall? Not that I’m complaining. I haven’t seen a right cross like that from somebody out of armor in easily fifteen years.”

“Her name’s Bianca Davri, and she’s the reason there’s red lyrium everywhere. Not that Varric can put that together, because he’s asshole-over-elbow in love with her. Not that she cares about Varric, since she’s married to somebody else and has been stringing Varric along for close to two decades.”

Blackwall whistled appreciatively. “Quite the piece of work.”

“How are you holding up?” I asked him after we again swapped bottles.

“Holding up?”

“You’re wandering the keep without those manacles on – and your wrists look like Hellen must have healed them – so I’m assuming she’s already judged you.”

Blackwall nodded slowly. “First thing once we got back. We rather expected you to be there.”

“I was waiting for Cullen in his office. I was hoping to talk to him… but he was apparently pissed at me.”

“He and Hellen were grumbling pretty consistently the last few days on the road,” he confided in me. “I caught your name a time or two. Hellen seemed to be defending you, although her resolve was pretty unconvincing. They were angry at you for telling them to get me released, I take it?”

“Something like that. Cullen rather implied that he believed I wanted you let out because we were fucking.”

Blackwall shook his head. “Jealousy is a terrible thing.”

I sighed. “Tell me about it.”

“And then you walked into the main hall and met Bianca? That explains things a bit better.”

“Hey, I asked about you. How are _you_ holding up?”

“I don’t have any right to complain to you.”

We switched bottles again while I narrowed my eyes at him. “What does that mean?”

“When Hellen heard… why I’d gone to Val Royeaux. What I’d done. She said I should hang, said she shouldn’t waste the Inquisition’s resources trying to free a murderer and a liar. But she did it anyways. When I asked her why… she said you’d told her to. She said you’d told her that none of her companions would betray _her_ , not while Corypheus was a threat, and that you’d said we all had secrets. She was convinced you’d known about me the entire time, and when I’d disappeared you’d told her I was _redeemable_. In short, Hellen Adaar freed me from the headsman because her Seer told her to.”

“Well there’s another reason to kill me,” I grunted. “Tell the Orlesians I have the ear of the Inquisitor. No big deal.”

“But you do, don’t you? You control who lives and who dies, because any one of us would do anything you said. And now… I owe you my life. Plain and simple. Do you… really believe me redeemable?”

“I know for a fact you are,” I answered immediately. “You _want_ to be a good man, Thom. That’s the difference.”

“And then you do shit like that,” he breathed, letting his head fall back to _thump_ on the wall. “You say my name like it’s nothing, like it’s not tainted. Like it doesn’t belong to some criminal.”

“Look, I don’t know what you think about Orlais. But their _Game_ dictates that you have to be willing to kill people – kill nobility – to get ahead. As far as Orlais is concerned, your crime was in getting discovered, not the act itself. The entire thing is screwed up. Did you make a bad decision? Yes. Did people die over it? Yes. Should you feel shitty about that? Yes. Should I even consider attempting to _judge you_ for it? No. Sera fucks up nobles for money all the damn time and we all love her to pieces.”

“It was a _family_ ,” he told me, clearly disapproving my blasé take on the situation. “Children.”

“Yeah, and you feel so bad about it that you’ve spent your life since teaching men to defend themselves and their families. You’ve recruited men for the Wardens. You’ve physically defended the weak and the helpless. Sounds like you’ve felt awful about it and been working towards redemption for a long time. Would I feel the same way about it if it had happened yesterday and you were on the run? No. But now, all these years later? When you’ve saved the lives of countless people in the meantime? I’d rather you stay alive and keep helping, rather than die and stop all your good works. You can atone alive far better than you can dead.”

“You’re something else, you know that?”

I laughed. “I do. I don’t think I internalize it in quite the way you mean it, though.”

“No?”

I shook my head as we swapped bottles once more. “No. I’m different now. It was inevitable, really. My entire environment changed… right down to the air I breathe, the ground I walk upon, and the food I eat. The friends I had, the influence they exerted, is utterly different. I went from a peer group of young professionals and standard American middle class white collar working types – people just trying to make enough to fund their social lives and retirement – to being literally surrounded by people who are actively trying to save the world. My skills here aren’t mundane, they’re revolutionary. My past is impossible for anyone to relate to, so I _have to_ live in the present. None of my stories make sense in this context. The person I was is a ghost hovering over my shoulder, and I don’t know who I’m supposed to be anymore.”

“Maker,” he breathed. “Void take me if I don’t know _exactly_ how that last bit feels.”

I tried to laugh, but it came out barely a cough. “Maybe, subconsciously, that’s why I made sure Hellen bailed you out. Maybe what I really need is somebody to whine to when the act of remaking myself from the ground up is too hard.”

“I can drink to that.”

 

*

 

It was long after dark when Blackwall and I emerged into the courtyard near the kitchens. I’d shown him some of the lesser used passages in the lower levels, and we had pilfered more of the private stock on the way out.

“I get the Flames of Our Lady,” I said as we made our way slowly across to the little room above the stables he’d taken for himself. Unlike in the game, he did _not_ sleep in the hayloft, but in the extensive rooms built into the corner of the courtyard above the much-bigger-in-reality stable.

“I heard you had a bad morning thanks to that Lady,” he laughed as he handed over the bottle.

“It’s a challenge, now. I can’t let her beat me.”

“Thank you,” he said, and the subject change gave me pause.

“You’re… welcome…?”

“Saving my life. Showing me the stockroom. Having more faith in me than I’ve ever had in myself. Just… thanks. And thanks for this afternoon. We should do it again sometime.”

“Absolutely,” I agreed eagerly. “I’ll punch bitches every day if it means I get to skive work and make friends.”

Blackwall tipped his head back and roared with laughter, and I couldn’t help but join him. He put his fist out – I’d taught him how to bump knuckles – and I punched it lightly with my own and then turned to head back to my tower. I was nervous for maybe a quarter of a second in the courtyard, until I felt Cole’s presence at my shoulder.

“Still helping,” he intoned wisely. “Even when admitting you need help, you help.”

“And I appreciate _your_ help,” I replied. “I always feel better knowing you’re around.”

Cole bumped his shoulder into mine, and I slung an arm around him.  “You sleeping tonight, Cole?”

“Yes,” he answered happily, wrapping his arm around my waist. Side-by-side we crossed the darkened keep to the tower I now called home.

“Is this the only time you sleep?” I asked him as I set my burdens down and prepared for bed.

Cole nodded. “It’s quiet beside you. Only time I can’t hear… _anyone_. Only you, but I like to hear you. Waves on the ocean, wind at night, falling stars and ten thousand million frogs. You have the best sleep thoughts.”

“Here,” I said, suddenly remembering what I had meant to do. I spun around the thin silver chain on my wrist and undid the clasp, letting the intricate keys slide free. “I want you to have one of these.”

“No,” Cole said immediately. “You need-“

“Cole,” I interrupted, reaching out to cup his face. I didn’t really need to explain it to him, just calm him enough for him to _listen_. All the things in the chest were just that – things. And if I wanted to get into the chest, Cole was _always there_. Nobody would find it, if they could even find _him_ , and I knew it was safer with him than anyone else in the world. There were a million reasons… but the most important one was _he meant so much to me_ and it was the only way I had to _show_ it to him.

“But they’re your memories,” he protested, as I pressed one of the keys into his hand and closed his fingers around it.

“You said you couldn’t make me forget,” I reminded, “and so instead you would help me remember.”

He closed his eyes and held his fist against his chest. “ _Trust_ me.”

I didn’t have an adequate response to that – not one I could verbalize, at least – so I crawled silently into my bedding. Cole sat on the floor, his back to my bed, daggers out and laying inches from either hand, and I curled up as near to him as I could, protecting each other in our sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I giggled most of the way through writing this.


	34. Pt II Ch 7: War Room Resolutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian agrees with many of you Readers.  
> Also, where the hell IS Solas?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In other news, [THIS](http://archiveofourown.org/chapters/12490052?style=creator#main) happened and I'm 75% lunatic about it. I've never been gifted a fic before and I legitimately cried when I saw it.  
> Between this and all the art and all the friends... this has been a most glorious experiment and anyone reading this is on my list of favorite people. Kudos or no, comments or no, I love you forever.

Hellen and Dorian made their bath appearance together the next morning, far earlier than I was prepared to wake up.

“We’ve got to get you back onto Inquisition time,” Hellen snarked. “This lazing around all day is bad for morale.”

“Why don’t you go ahead and yell at me for the Blackwall thing, so we can move on,” I sighed.

Hellen blinked. I smiled reflexively, although I knew the grin would aggravate her.

She clenched her jaw together, and I sighed again.

“Well, if Hellen isn’t talking,” Dorian spoke up as he sank into his tub, “then allow me the honor.”

“Go for it.”

“Whatever your fight with the Commander, you need to find him and fix it,” the Altus told me sternly.

“Look, buddy, _he_ was a dick to _me_. I waited in his office for him to get back so I could tell him I was an idiot for insisting we could only be friends, and he _dismissed_ me. Twice! I told him what he needed to do if he wanted us to even _be_ friends. I don’t have anything else to offer.”

Dorian sighed, and looked like he was seriously considering putting his head under water for far longer than was healthy. “When I found him, he seemed to be dismantling everything in his sleeping quarters. I talked him down, put his furniture back together, and then made him sit in the garden and play chess until he was coherent again. I actually won. Twice. That’s how shaken up he was, _he didn’t see me cheating_. Or he let me win, either way. What I finally got out of him was that he’d ruined whatever chance he’d ever had with you, and he was going to be slowly killed by withdrawals without you in his life. He wasn’t even sad about it, just blindly resolved to his fate. It was like being back in Nevarra, Gwennie. It was _awful_. You have to fix it.”

I shook my head. “I’ll fix it, Dorian,” I told him, more to soothe him than out of any desire to face Cullen again so soon.

“Don’t lie.”

I laughed, and tried to reassure him, but Dorian was having none of my shit.

“No, I’m not done. The last time he saw you, you told him you had rediscovered your love of life. You told him you were going to… to… oh, how did you say it? _Ride out to meet it_ , was it?”

“He told you?” I asked, surprised.

“Of course he told me! Wasn’t that what I was just saying, how I spent _my entire evening_ trying to talk the Commander out of a hole? You tell him about your desire to be open to _love_ and what does he do?”

“He-“

“He skived off work! Gwendolyn Murray, have you ever known this man to avoid the office?”

“No, but I-”

“No! Whatever it was you said was so important that he _turned his back on his office_ to pursue the conversation. Why you wanted to go to the _chapel_  is beyond me, but as soon as he drums up the courage to ask for a fraction of your new _joie de vivre_ for himself, he gets hauled away to Val Royeaux on what _he perceives_ is a mission undertaken _solely for your benefit_. And then the bleeding idiot decides _this is a message from the Maker_ and _you’re not meant to be together_ and he’ll do what Hellen did and move on. He spends the entire trip _stewing_ over it, and comes home ready to make a clean break and then! _Then_ you decide _now_ is the time to confront him about _your_ feelings and you’re surprised he blew up? _Why didn't you say something before now?_ ”

“I wasn’t ready before now!” I fired back. “I didn’t have all the information! I didn’t know yet what I was supposed to do, what I-“

“Supposed to do?” Dorian asked, sitting up and slopping water over the edge of the cask. “ _Supposed_ to do? Gwen. The Maker was not sending Cullen a message about your intentions via Blackwall and he is decidedly _not_ sending you any messages about Cullen via your dead husband. The Maker turned a blind eye to Thedas and he _definitely_ doesn’t give two tin shits about your love life.”

“It was Andraste who brought me here,” I informed him softly. “I figured it out that day in the Chantry, when I saw the statue and realized where I knew her from. Andraste, at least, hasn’t turned a blind eye to us.”

Dorian sketched a suspicious look at Hellen, who nodded solemnly.

“And I suppose you think that since _Andraste herself_ brought you here that she also has some grand plan for what you’re supposed to be doing every second of the day?”

“No,” I countered, as mildly as I could around a building frustration. “I believe her when she said she had a purpose for me. I believe that everything in my life has happened for a reason… I lost my pregnancy so I wouldn’t have to choose to abandon my child. I lost-“

“You think Andraste set your world on fire? Killed your husband? Killed your _child_?” Dorian demanded. “Don’t answer that. The answer is _no_. She brought you here, fine. Sure. We can accept that – we’d assumed it for Hellen anyways, so it’s not that big of a leap. But to assume that she _made_ that happen _for you_ …? Gwen. _No._ She didn’t kill your husband or your family or your unborn child. She didn’t create this world for you. She didn’t torture Cullen, didn’t send him to Kinloch and then on to Kirkwall just so you could be amused by his _character development_. She didn’t turn my father to blood magic and she didn’t kill Hellen’s parents. And she _definitely_ does not care about your love life. _Andraste does not care if you bump uglies with the Commander_.”

When he said it like that, it was all rather ridiculous.

“It helps to know I have a purpose-“

“You do. Gwen, love, you do. You have a grand purpose. You’re a healer and a savior and… and we don’t even _know_ what you are in regards to the Veil. You have already saved countless lives, _your life matters_. But giving you a purpose is _not the same_ as dictating every second, every choice in your life.”

He spun around in the tub to face me, sloshing even more water onto my now-soaked floor. I tried to look away, _needed_ to look away from the fire in his eyes, but I was pinned in place. I had never felt more naked.

“Did it matter, in the game you played, who the Inquisitor fell in love with? Who the Inquisitor was? Or did certain things happen regardless of who she – or he – fell into bed with?”

He was right, _God_ , he was right, and it _burned_. I managed to nod weakly.

“Love the Commander, or don’t. Love me, or don’t. Love everyone or no one. It is _your choice_. If there is one thing this life should have taught all of us by now, it is _shit happens_. You make the best with what you’ve got and you _live your life_ however you can. But Void take me if I have to listen to _either_ of you light-blinded idiots go on _one more time_ about what the Maker wants. ANDRASTE DOES NOT CARE WHO YOU SLEEP WITH _.”_

“No, you’re right,” I put up a hand to stop him as he seemed poised to launch into another rant. “It is… comforting, I guess, to think that somebody had a plan for me. That everything that happened wasn’t random…”

“There is a plan,” Hellen interrupted. “Dorian isn’t saying you weren’t saved for a reason. He’s saying the _grand plan_ didn’t involve anything as grand as you’re imagining. Did she save you? Yes. But the fact that she saved you doesn’t mean she’s the one who endangered you. She said _the demons won_ when she brought you out of the ruins of your old home, remember? She didn’t _cause_ everything. She merely took steps to pull something out of the wreckage she saw coming.”

“You can drop a pebble off a cliff with the intention of having it fall,” Dorian added, seeming to slowly calm down after his outburst, “but no one can plan for each and every rock it will touch on its way down. She set you in motion, love, but she doesn’t control you. She never has. _No one_ ever has. The choice is ultimately yours.”

“It’s simpler to believe everything happens for a reason,” I complained, dropping my head against the tub.

“Yes, well, _Cullen_ believed the same,” Dorian snarked, “and that led directly to his belief that you weren’t _meant to be_ and that he should try to abandon his love of you. Which led us to _this_ steaming pile of shit. So do us all a favor and leave The Maker out of it when you go and _fix this mess_.”

Hellen tipped her head back to rest on the lip of her tub. “And I suppose you have a perfectly logical _reason_ for me to have retrieved Blackwall instead of letting him hang, since that’s surely what Cullen was so upset over.”

“It’s hard to try to create a new persona, to become someone else entirely and let the person you were before, die. It’s hard enough to come to the conclusion that _that_ is what has to happen for you to be happy, for you to be able to move on with your life. But actually doing it… looking at every aspect of yourself and deciding what was real or not, what is worth keeping or not, and then actually going through with it and _changing_ … He was willing to die for the mistakes of his past. I think it is better to live and atone, make the world better, rather than cease to be a part in it.”

“Are we talking about Thom Ranier or Gwen Murray?” Dorian asked.

I winced. Hellen cursed – loudly – and started beating her head on the bath tub.

“For fuck’s sake, Hellen, calm down,” Dorian chided.

“I’m an idiot. Gwen, I’m sorry. I’ll go apologize to Blackwall, too.”

“Everybody gets to be an idiot sometimes, Hellen. I’m glad my idiocy gets such classy company.”

“I have questions,” Hellen asked after a period of silence as we all worked to get clean. “Why’d you cold-cock Davri? Were you really going to let Varric shoot you? And what did you scream at them as Thom was hauling you away?”

“Ugh, that’s too complicated to explain.”

“Alright. Save it for the war room, then. I’ll have Leliana help me drag it out of you.”

“While you’re at it, have her find out where Solas went.”

Hellen frowned at me. “That seems like the sort of thing you should know.”

“Doesn’t it, though? You can understand my concern.”

“That sounds like we need to convene the council a bit early today,” she said, standing up abruptly out of her tub. “Dorian, I’ve got a crate of books coming from an importer in Jader; get us dry without whining and I’ll give you first rights to whatever’s in there.”

We were dry, dressed, and out the door in less than five minutes. Hellen took us straight to the war room, asking Josephine to call Leliana and Cullen as soon as possible, rather than waiting for the normal start time. Josie agreed and nearly ran from her office. Hellen and I let ourselves into the war room and killed the time pointing out everywhere she’d seen a dragon as compared to where I knew all the dragons to be.

Cullen was the first to arrive, as Josie had sent one of his soldiers to fetch him and gone upstairs to collect Leliana for herself. The Commander paused at the door long enough to not startle us with his entry, and I vaguely saw him set down a parcel on the sideboard. It was his face that made me catch my breath.

“Cullen!” I crossed the room to him, our argument forgotten. His eyes were sunken and bloodshot, the bags under them so dark as to look like he’d taken a punch to the nose. He was decidedly pale, and I could see a slight tremor in his hand as he brought it away from the parcel on the sideboard to rest on the pommel of his sword. “Are you feeling unwell?”

His eyes widened as I approached, and then closed as I pressed my hands to his face, feeling for a fever. His skin always felt like fire to my perpetually cold hands, but today he was merely warm. Not feverish, then… but definitely not well. He lifted his right hand and caught my left before I pulled it away from his face, and he pressed my palm against his cheek.

His breath shook as he exhaled, as if he’d been holding it too long and didn’t quite remember how to let go.

We stood like that for an impossibly long time: my hand caught between his hand and his cheek, my right hand somehow finding its way to the collar of his breastplate, his left hand coming to rest gently on my waist. I listened to his breath even out and watched the nervous flicker of his pulse beneath his clenched jaw gradually slow and disappear as he relaxed.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” I whispered when my own heart threatened to erupt out of my throat.

“Nothing, now,” he answered softly.

“Liar,” I laughed. “Worst liar I know. You look _miserable_ , Cullen.”

“I… I haven’t slept,” he admitted.

“In how long?”

A rough shrug was my answer, and he tilted his face to settle my palm more solidly against his cheek.

“I can’t help if you don’t tell me, Cullen.”

“Even you have your limits. This is not something you can heal. The content of my dreams is for me to battle alone.”

A sort of bubbling happiness filled my chest, and I lifted my free hand to playfully slap his shoulder. “Bullshit. I can promise you dreamless sleep.”

His eyes opened halfway and his lips quirked in a drowsy smile that shot electricity directly into my abdomen. “Of course you can. Is there anything wrong in my life that five minutes next to you can’t fix?”

“Yes,” I said grimly. “That war table is a _shit show_.”

He shook with a silent laugh, and then slid my hand off his cheek and over his mouth, where he pressed a dry kiss against my palm. My heart dropped into my gut.

“Are you about done?” Hellen called, from far nearer than I remembered her being. Somehow, it had seemed Cullen and I were alone in these last minutes, when in truth Hellen had only been a few paces behind us. Cullen released his gentle pressure on my hand and I stepped away, noticing that Leliana and Josephine were both watching us with indulgent smiles on their faces. My cheeks ran hot.

“Put your teeth together, sister mine,” I gritted at her in English, and Hellen laughed happily.

“You call her your _sister_!” Leliana practically cheered. We’d recruited Bull and Dagna to join Hellen and I in teaching the Spymaster Qunlat. “Oh, that’s _darling_.”

“And the rest of it?” Josephine asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“Just as rude as you’d expect,” Leliana confirmed with a satisfied nod.

Cullen – who still looked like death on toast, if a calmer version – did his damnedest to act like everything was business as usual. _As if he hadn’t just kissed my hand for the second time ever, and for the first time without there being another man’s wedding band on the fourth finger._ He strode up to the war table and took his standard space in the middle of the far side. Josephine and Leliana drifted to their corners, and I stood a pace to Hellen’s left and tried to keep my eyes on the table.

“Why push up the time of the meeting?” Josephine asked, getting business rolling.

Hellen talked about Solas and my lack of any idea about where he was. That fed us into my revelation about Andraste, and from there to Varric’s need to follow up on the source of the red lyrium. And Hellen still hadn’t set foot in the Dales.

“Let me find Solas,” I offered, as the other advisors were proposing plans. It was the first time I had essentially taken a war table mission in real life, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit giddy about it. “He taught me to navigate the Fade. Give me a night or three to track him down, and that will give Leliana time to look for him the hard way.”

Hellen blinked at me, which prompted me to grin toothily at her.

“You are always _so pleased_ when you say something to surprise me,” she complained.

I nodded. “I love making you blink like that.”

“Blink?”

I nodded as Josephine laughed. “Blink.”

“Whatever,” she sighed, shaking herself free of that tangent. “Gwen, yes, go looking for Solas. Leliana, back her up.”

“I think it goes beyond saying,” Cullen protested, “that the Fade is not a safe place? And the deep sleep required to go searching for something in the Fade is perhaps inadvisable given the uncertain state of the contract with the Crows.”

“I’ve got a handle on that,” Josephine said smoothly. “I have a contact who is a former Crow-“

“Zev?” I interrupted.

“Zev,” Leliana confirmed with a nod.

“-who has agreed to find this contract and determine a means to nullify it,” she finished as if neither of us had spoken.

“And that will take how long?” Cullen pressed.

“Long enough for Cole to kill another couple Crows,” Hellen shrugged. “I really feel like rubbing that in Vivienne’s face.”

“Another time, perhaps,” Josephine suggested smoothly. “She’s in high spirits currently, after the _display_ yesterday.”

“Display?” Cullen asked.

“Gwen cold-cocked Varric’s contact, knocked her out cold. Varric responded by pointing Bianca at her. _Vivienne_ responded by putting a barrier on Gwen, who then took the Barrier as a solid reason to challenge Varric to shoot her.” Hellen recounted the story with no emotion in her voice, although the expression on her face was almost giddy. I flatly refused to look up from the war table while she spoke. “Varric decided he _would_ shoot her, which is when Blackwall – well, Thom – stepped in, threw Gwen over his shoulder, and hauled her off to parts unknown. She protested her removal, and _howled_ at Varric in Qunlat as she was being dragged away.”

Total silence met the end of her tale. I left my eyes on the table, conscious I was _beet red_.

“Which takes me back to my question, Gwennie love,” Hellen practically purred.

“Dishonor on you,” I told her flatly in English. “Dishonor on your family. Dishonor on your cow.”

Hellen folded up on herself, collapsing to the floor in hysterics.

I glanced up to see Leliana staring at me in confusion. “I must have heard that wrong.”

I shook my head. “No. It was ridiculous. But it _sounded awesome_.”

“And that translates to…?” Josephine asked, eager to be let in on the joke.

Hellen attempted, but ended up stuttering and relapsing in a fit of giggles. Leliana still didn’t believe her ears. So I sighed and dutifully converted the words into Common.

Some fifteen or twenty minutes later, as everyone finally pulled themselves together and stopped laughing at me, Hellen wrapped an arm around my shoulders to keep herself upright. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Look, it sounded good, and it’s… it’s like a running joke back where I come from. And it’s not like any of _them_ knew what I was saying. And I was having a _really bad day_.”

“What prompted you to punch the dwarven emissary in the first place?” Josephine asked. She was clearly displeased.

I glanced up – finally – at Cullen to see him looking pointedly away, and decidedly uncomfortable.

“She’s a royal… actually, no. Josephine, I like you too much to actually use the word I was going to use for her.”

“I, uhm, I, ap-appreciate that, Gwen,” the Ambassador stammered.

“She is one of my least favorite people on Thedas. And she’s here. And she’s…” I shuddered in remembered rage. “She’s a terrible person, and she’s terrible to Varric, and she’s done a terrible thing, and she’s going to say shitty things about it and never really take responsibility and just… _augh_.”

“So, first stop, wherever her red lyrium lead takes us,” Hellen said, dropping the pale green emerald used to mark her current goal onto the map. She left it on Skyhold; I reached out and pushed it closer to the Hinterlands. Hellen quirked an eyebrow but kept her comment to herself. “Second stop, either retrieving Solas or smoothing out the civil war in the Exalted Plains. While I’m doing that, and Gwen is looking for Solas, the rest of you need to start making our final plans for the Empress’ Ball.”

Josephine was ready for this, of course, and she started trotting out plans. She didn’t get very far in before I learned something truly terrible.

“What do you mean, it’s a _seven day ball_?” I asked, aghast. “It’s supposed to be one night!”

“Gwen,” Leliana scoffed. “We’re not going to find and foil an assassin in _one night_. If they have any hope of being successful, they would have to be _far_ better than that. And they know we’re coming – aside from you, myself, and Josephine, we’ve got a Tevinter altus, a Ben Hassrath, and a _Red Jenny_ coming with us. They will hide their tracks well, I promise you.”

“And even if we were, miraculously, to find and thwart the assassination attempt on the first night,” Josephine added, pausing to exchange an incredulous look with Leliana, “it would reflect very poorly on the Inquisition for us to immediately leave. Not to mention, someone else could assassinate the Empress on one of the other days, once her guard is down. No, we are going for the entirety of Satinalia.”

“Woah,” I said, slapping a hand across my eyes. “The Ball is on Satinalia?”

Even Cullen looked slightly surprised by my concern on that one. “Of course it is. Why else would she throw a ball this time of year?”

“We’re definitely not waiting until First Day,” Josephine said, a bit patronizing.

“I have to spend a _week_ with Orlesians who want me, specifically, dead. That’s what you’re telling me right now.”

Leliana’s eyes lit up. “It is truly the only way to experience Orlais.”

 

*

 

I avoided the main hall, taking the long route through the lower levels to be sure I avoided Varric. He was leaving with Hellen in the morning – along with Dorian and Thom Ranier, who Hellen wanted to spend some more time with. Cullen was detained by Josephine – who needed help clearing up _exactly_ what Hellen had promised in order to free Blackwall – and so when I left the war room I was alone.

I found Sera and asked her to steal a couple of Solas’ sleeping draughts from his stockpile in his chamber. She knew what I was talking about before I had the sentence finished, and the idea of sanctioned stealing from Solas was too good to pass up. She never even asked me why, just arrived with a box of _every potion Solas had_ and a wet sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks for the fun, Twee,” she said, disappearing as quickly as she’d arrived.

Cole was there, somewhere, close, and I tossed the sleeping draught back without a second’s hesitation as I ate a quiet afternoon meal in my living room. I dragged a blanket over myself on the couch and let my thoughts wander as I waited for the potion to take hold.

I couldn’t tell when I actually fell asleep. I was laying on my couch, daydreaming about what Hellen might do to Bianca if the little troll was stupid enough to threaten the Vashoth, which led me to imagining Alexius’ fate. At some point I realized I wasn’t just imagining the main hall at Redcliffe, _I was actually there_.

I had only glanced at it before, as I dropped from the portal, and as such the room was filmy and immaterial. I solidified the dream, accepting I was asleep, and stepped out of Redcliffe into the raw Fade.

Without someone with me, I felt comfortable physically moving, rather than imagining the world around me moving. I only took two steps before Solas was standing in front of me.

“Stop, da’len,” he said, one hand warily on his head. “As remarkable as your control is, on only your second attempt, _please_ refrain from physically moving in the Fade. You control your surroundings with your _mind_.”

“I’m sorry,” I replied. “I thought I could, since I was alone.”

“Does it not cause you discomfort?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Would the real Solas know that?”

He stepped back in surprise. “Da’len-“

“I don’t know enough yet, sorry,” I said, and turned my back on the form of Solas. It could be the elf I sought. It could also be a demon. I had no way of knowing. I closed my eyes and focused on a place with no people.

I was standing on the deck of the cruise ship again, slowly spinning through Glacier Bay. I turned away from the scenery to see Solas standing in the stateroom behind me, watching me wearily. Something about _this_ Solas seemed more real, somehow, than the last one.

“How do I know you’re real?” I asked him.

He lifted an eyebrow at me, but made no other movement. “You don’t.”

“How could I tell?”

“A mage would attack,” Solas informed me. “A demon would defend, or be destroyed. A friend would be merely injured.”

“That’s shitty,” I shook my head. “I’m not willing to attack my friends, even if I knew how.”

“Which is why you _should not be here_ , da’len,” Solas chided. “And yet I knew you would, so I have prepared you a message.”

“Oh?”

“I have gone to find my friend, as you forewarned. She has been drawn from the Fade, and bound in the form of Pride. I cannot reach her, nor can I leave her side. Now that those who bound her are dead, I must stay near and assure she cannot harm anyone in this twisted form.”

“Near the river in the Exalted Plains?”

“Some short distance from the beach, yes.”

“I will send Hellen,” I told him.

“I would appreciate that, da’len, although I sincerely doubt she will arrive in time if she is yet in Skyhold.”

“I will see what I can do,” I said in what I hoped was a reassuring tone. I could feel the edges of the dream bleeding away. “Stay safe. Help is coming, I swear.”

“Gwen!” Hellen’s voice intruded into the dream, and I snapped awake.

“Wha… What?”

“You’ve been out for three hours,” she calmly informed me, although her face was so near to mine our noses touched.

I startled back into the couch cushions and she laughed, throwing herself heavily onto the seat beside me. “I know you’re shielded when you’re there, but you can still exhaust yourself to the point of near-death. You should always have someone waiting to wake you up when you plan to enter the Fade.”

“I woke myself up last time,” I told her, fighting to stifle a yawn. I failed.

“Right,” she laughed again. “Go get some real sleep and look for him again tomorrow.”

“I don’t have to look for him again, I found him.”

“You… what?” she turned on the couch to stare at me. “Three hours and done?”

“The first Solas definitely wasn’t really him. He just felt wrong. The second one, though… the things he told me are things I knew were going to happen, if a bit different. Solas went in search of a friend. She’s a spirit of wisdom, and she was drawn from the Fade by three idiot mages who bound her into a spirit of pride. Solas needs help freeing her.”

Hellen waved a hand. “The mages who bound her can _un_ bind her, if they know anything at all.”

“I think… he didn’t _say_ he did it, but I’m pretty sure he killed them.”

“Idiot,” Hellen sighed fondly. “If a bit after my own heart. There’s nothing I can do that he can’t in this scenario. What’s he doing, babysitting a partially bound Pride demon so it doesn’t level half of Celene’s army?”

“Yes. He said he didn’t want her to harm anyone.”

Hellen seemed to pause there. “I suppose it has more weight when you consider the spirit itself as worth saving, rather than just an entity that has been corrupted. But still… by the time any of us could get there, she’ll be too far gone. He has to know that.”

I nodded, feeling sadness well up for Solas’ lost friend. “Yes. He said if you were still here you would not arrive in time.”

Hellen pushed off the couch and tousled my hair. “Get some real sleep regardless, you hear? And some food. But stay out of the Fade tonight, you need your rest.”

“I will, Hellen.”

She nodded and then headed to the door. “And make Cullen sleep, if you can. He looks like shit.”

I snorted a laugh as she shouldered her way out of my rooms. As the door swung shut behind her, I was inexplicably anxious.

I knew how to make Cullen sleep.

I just didn’t know if I had the courage for it.


	35. Pt II Ch 8: Courage is Key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> /hands out flags

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In other news, I finally finished Halamshiral! FINALLY! I want to get pt 3 knocked out quickly so that there's no delays in my posting schedule. Since my computer is a brick (and this is all being done on a tablet) I can't make any promises. DON'T WORRY I have everything backed up in triplicate, my computer dying didn't endanger any of my manuscripts. ;) New computer should be here around New Years.

In the hours between waking up and going back to sleep, I gathered a completely different kind of courage and went to find Vivienne.

She had agreed to have a thorough exam done of Bastien, add to it her own notes about the onset of symptoms and subsequent deterioration, and bring it to me so we could determine what doctors in my world might have done.

“Progressive muscle degeneration,” I read aloud from the list. “Loss of motor function with no effects to sensory function. Progression to near total paralysis.” I took a deep breath and sank into her couch. “Tell me… did you notice anything odd with the nerves in his spinal cord?”

“Yes,” she replied, surprised. “It was… hardened, I suppose the word would be. As if there was scarring. I suspected poison, but there was no trace, and I’ve found no mention of any poisons that could accomplish this.”

She was quiet for a long time as I tried to find the words to tell her there was  _nothing_  to be done for Bastien. Not that I had to… she could see it in my face.

“You have a name for this,” she surmised.

I nodded. “ _Amyotropic Lateral Sclerosis_  are the English words,” I told her sadly.

“And your treatment for it?”

I shook my head. “Treatment of symptoms only. One hundred percent fatal.”

She closed her eyes and dipped her chin. I stood quickly from the couch, pressing my palm to her shoulder. She reached up and clasped my hand, and we stood thus until she was composed.

“There’s no reason a magical cure  _couldn’t_  work,” I offered.

“And yet you’ve never seen the snowy wyvern heart save him,” she guessed.

I would not lie to her. “No. I’ve… I’ve never known it to work.”

“Because it is the treatment for a poison,” she told me, slowly shaking her head. “And this… this is no poison, as you say.”

“No one had yet determined its ultimate cause,” I continued, trying to keep my voice even for her sake. “I can’t even tell you where else to look. I am… Oh, Vivienne, I am  _so sorry_.”

“And with no known cause, and no true spirit healers available…” she sighed, but her hand tightened on mine. “Hellen has only the fundamentals, and has years yet before she comes into her own. But even if Solona Amell herself was to arrive on his doorstep tomorrow, with no  _cause_ …”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, mindful of the echo.

“I know, my dear. You, of all people… I know.”

I’d lost my husband, she meant. She knew I could actually empathize with her.

I tightened my hand on her shoulder briefly and then let it drift off and dangle at my side. She seemed to withdraw into herself.

“Go to him,” I urged her. “He can hear you. He can feel.”

She nodded brokenly, and I left her loft as softly as I could manage.

She was gone within the hour, riding hard for home.

I checked in with Josephine, to explain where Vivienne had gone and why. We ended up sitting on her narrow loveseat, her arm around me and my head on her shoulder, staring at the fire in silent companionship. It was hard to like Vivienne… but it was even harder to wish her ill.

“You do so much for so many,” she told me sadly. “We would all be lost without you. Even this… you feel it was a failure, but you gave lady Vivienne such a gift. She will be with him in the time he has left, rather than fighting until the last moment to try to save him in vain. She will love you for this, in the end.”

I returned her hug. “I didn’t do it so she would love me.”

“No, you would not. You do not seem to realize it is that selflessness that is the  _reason_  you are loved, lady Gwen.”

“I’m not a lady, Josephine,” I argued, trying to temper the mood.

“Yes,” she countered in a tone that brokered no further conversation. “Yes, you  _are_.”

 

*

 

Night had fallen by the time I mustered my courage – and recovered from the shared sorrow of Vivienne’s looming loss – to walk up to Cullen’s office. It occurred to me as I wandered over from my tower to his just how much easier it was to offer one’s skills and one’s knowledge than it was to make a gift of self. Knocking on his door with a ball of ice clutched between my hands was completely different than entering with nothing to offer but words and resolve. I had no fear of my skills being rejected.

He was, of course, awake. The keep had largely quieted by the time I arrived, and he was sitting at his desk beside twin burning lamps, checking a ledger line-by-line. He didn’t look up right away when I entered, and I shut the door quietly behind me and waited.

My heart was pounding in my throat.

He happened to glance up and double-took, immediately setting his quill aside and rising from his seat.

“Gwen! Forgive me, I didn’t-“

“No, it’s fine, I know you’re very busy. Which is actually why I’m here, I think.”

“You think?” he asked, the concern fading to amusement as he eased back into his chair. “You’re not sure?”

I stepped slowly across the room to lean on the back of the chair facing his desk. “I’m not,” I confirmed. “I have had an odd day. I… I always feel better, talking to you.”

He smiled questioningly as he cared for his quill and arranged his ledgers, I assumed in the order that he meant to work on them when he returned to his desk. It seemed I had his full attention, unlike his studious dismissal the day before. “I feel better when you’re talking to me, too. Is it too much to hope that your being here is indicative of my being forgiven for my abysmal behavior yesterday?”

I smiled at him. “I would be willing to entertain the possibility, yes.”

“I do owe you an apology. As you noted, I am… not well rested. I was in a black humor and allowed my baser instincts to win out over my reason. I wronged you, and I apologize.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry I-“

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he interrupted gently. “What happened today?”

“Vivienne,” I sighed, and let my head drop wearily. “She brought me the full list of Bastien’s symptoms and I… I…”

“You recognized his illness?” Cullen surmised, his tone telling me he’d guessed at the outcome, as well.

I nodded. “It’s a horrible, horrible thing. Always fatal. Unknown cause. Relatively rare, of course, but… terrible. I guess even spirit healers need a cause to heal things. A tumor to target, or a wound to heal… without knowing what is causing the trouble they can only deal with symptoms. Granted, that would have bought him some time, but still… ultimately there is nothing we can do.”

“And Vivienne?” His tone was gentle enough to break my heart.

“Left right after we spoke, heading back to him. I told her that Bastien could still hear her, could still _feel_ …”

“And rather than waste time here looking for a cure, she is gone to be with him? I am glad for her, as bad as the situation may be. We do not always get time, at the end, to make peace.”

I nodded. “I do not like to see her suffer,” I added softly. “It is my calling to prevent it, not add to it.”

“For which I am rather selfishly grateful,” he replied, and I couldn’t help but laugh. The laugh drew my eyes back up, and I saw him coming around his desk. “Here,” he continued, lifting the parcel I had seen before. “I brought this, hoping it would serve as restitution, to the war room today. I found I didn’t apparently need it, as you were quick to put aside any differences. Perhaps it can serve instead as a thank you, for all that you have done for… for all of us, in the Inquisition. Myself included.” He handed it gingerly to me, in such a way that our hands ran no risk of touching.

“A book?” I asked, remembering the primer and finding it impossible not to smile. I stepped around the chair I’d leaned on and took it, quickly unwrapping the brown paper. Cullen returned to his desk, sitting down over tented fingers to watch me.

The finely embossed script across the front of the heavy tome declared it to be _In the Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar_ by Brother Ferdinand Genitivi. I gasped and immediately clutched the thick leather cover to my chest. “You didn’t. I thought these were incredibly hard to find!”

Cullen smiled at me, the genuine kind that was pulled off-center by his scar. “Alistair knows where the man is hiding, and was able to track me down a copy. He was rather eager to help once he found out what I wanted it for.”

“You were planning to fight with me?” I teased.

Cullen’s smiled widened. “No, I despair of ever winning an argument with you, if you recall. You often speak of knowing what _might_ have happened, but never are sure what choices anyone actually made. Genitivi has an extensive section near the end of the newest edition of this book documenting both his time in Kirkwall and his time spent with Solona Amell. I thought it would be a source you would trust, in addition to being slightly denser material to work through. I believed you up to the challenge.”

“Thank you,” I breathed, holding the book tight for a moment longer before setting it gently back on the desk top. I folded up the paper it had been wrapped in and walked to the side of the room to drop it in the wastebasket, which I noted was filled with crumpled up bits of parchment, splotched with ink and torn. “It is a kingly gift.”

“You are quite welcome,” he answered softly. “Please, take it with my apologies.”

I managed a weak laugh as I moved back across the room to stand behind my chair once more. “Apology accepted. I understand what sleep deprivation can do to a mind. That leads into why I’m here tonight.”

“Alright, my lady, I’ll bite. What are you here for?”

“You need to sleep,” I answered. I found myself gripping the chair back to steady myself. 

His smile faded. “I know you mean well, but I was quite serious when I told you before my dreams are my own battle.”

“What if I could guarantee there would be absolutely no demons in your dreams? That your dreams, no matter what they contained, would be only that… dreams? And there was no way anything could actually hurt you while you slept?”

Cullen’s head dropped and his hands slid away from his ledgers to grip the edge of the table and then he went still. I watched him steady himself for several long minutes before he took a shaking breath and brought his eyes back up to meet mine.

The look of haunted hope he leveled at me was all the confirmation I needed. My trepidation evaporated.

“I’ve been doing it for Cole,” I told him, removing my now-steady hands from the chair and straightening. “I know it works because he _told me_ it works. It’s very simple, really. But we should probably talk some things out beforehand.”

Cullen swallowed. “I have said before I was a fool to wait for so long to take you up on your offer to help with my headaches. My health would better my service to the Inquisition. Just tell me what I need to do.”

I crossed my arms across my chest. “You just have to fall asleep. That’s it. The catch is… I need to be next to you at the time.”

Cullen caught his breath, and then laughed. “I’m not sure whether I believe you.”

I swung myself around the chair and then dropped into it heavily. “Cole sits down beside me, lays his head on my knee or my shoulder, and goes to sleep. You heard what Solas said about me, about what I do to the Fade. Because he’s next to me when he falls asleep, he gets caught up in my… my… Solas calls it my _aura_. He’s can’t get out. But nothing can get _in_ , either. He only ever sleeps when he’s next to me.”

Cullen’s emotions were a trainwreck to watch as they chased each other across his face. Hope and embarrassment and denial and _need_ were the most obvious, but a half a dozen more flickered by before I could try to give them a name.

He pushed up from his seat and rubbed the back of his neck so hard I was sure his gauntlets would flay his skin.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can imagine how difficult this is.”

“Can you?” he laughed, a bit bitterly, as he faced the window and pressed his forehead against the cold stone of the frame.

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. If you need some time to-“

“The answer to my nightmare is my dream,” he interrupted me softly. His voice was so low it would have been imperceptible if I wasn’t so focused on him. “You are offering me everything… and nothing at all.”

“That’s not true,” I countered, trying to equal the intensity of his voice, if not the pitch.

His hand dropped and gripped the windowsill, the metal of his gauntlets protesting audibly against the stone. “Falling asleep beside you. Waking up beside you. Freedom from withdrawals, from _demons_. But replacing one torment with another. You have to know, you _have to_. You said as much to Josephine, that was why she and Leliana apologized, stopped insisting I… I tell you.”

“Cullen, I-“

“Oh, I’d be a fool not to do it, wouldn’t I?” he breathed, and I could see just enough of his reflection in the frosted glass to know his eyes were clenched tightly shut. “Take what you can get, man. Take her cure, take your rest, sweep up the crumbs…”

“It’s not like that,” I insisted, standing up from the chair. My heart was pounding again, and the tremble had come back to my hands with a vengeance. “I know I haven’t given you any reason to believe I feel anything more than friendship for you, Cullen, but I have lo-“

He whirled away from the window and was beside me almost faster than my eyes could follow. His hands were on my face – cradling my skull, impossibly gentle for their haste – and his thumbs pressed – gently, gently – against my lips. “Do not,” he breathed. I couldn’t tell if it was an order or a plea. “Do not.”

I reached up and wrapped my hands around his thumbs and pulled them just far enough way for me to speak. “I was married. I didn't know I was a widow, and I refused to cheat on my husband, regardless of whether he would ever know. That was the only reason I didn’t… I wouldn’t… with you. And then I woke up in your arms and the only thing that could make me _feel_ was the knowledge that I’d hurt you. The timing was always wrong, before, but now… Now, it’s just a matter of time. I don’t want to do this wrong, but I don't want to be a coward anymore either. I'm so tired of wondering whether you still feel anything for me... whether we could, or should, or if I could even ask. I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with, don’t want this to change if you need it to stay the same.”

He was shaking, then, like a leaf in the wind, and I released his thumbs and pressed my hands against his. He slowly leaned forward and set his forehead against mine, and I happily leaned into the touch. If anything, he shook more.

“You need to know some things about me,” I told him as he readjusted his hands and freed my lips. “I can’t promise this would be easy, but I _can_ promise it would be slow. Probably painfully slow. Maybe _too_ slow, and I’ll understand if… if you… if you want me to go-”

He shook his head, the movements small but quick. I couldn’t mistake the answer, though, and my heart pounded, impossibly, harder.

“So how about,” I tried for some levity in my tone, although the attempt was admittedly weak, “this is the first step towards _us_. We sleep in the same place, so I can I assure no demons interfere with your sleep, and you see to it I’m not murdered by Crows.”

“That…” he started roughly, stopping and swallowing before trying again. “That sounds like we’re doing everything in the wrong order.”

“We have to find a balance,” I asserted softly. “I need to make sure I’m not rushing anything. I don’t want to… to bring a ghost with me into… this, if that-“

“That makes sense,” he assured me quickly.

I nodded. “But you need to be comfortable, too. You just have to be… close… is all, when you’re sleeping. You don’t have to be in actual contact with me, if it’s too much.”

“It’s not,” he whispered. “It is the exact opposite.”

“So I’m setting the pace?” I surmised.

He nodded, although I realized the rest of his body was almost painfully still. His hands had not moved since his thumbs had shifted, still forming a perfect cradle for my skull. “As long as… as this is the direction we’re moving, then yes. You give me your rules and I will follow them. Just…” his shoulders bobbed with a sigh or a swallow, I couldn’t tell. “I’m sorry, but I have to say… if something changes, if you change your mind, you have to tell me. Don’t-“

“I will not lead you on,” I promised, and some of the tension went out of his shoulders. “I would not before, and I will not now. I wouldn’t say any of this if I didn’t lo-“

His thumbs slid over my lips again, cutting me off, and I knew he had at least one rule: I couldn’t tell him I loved him. Not yet, at least. I nodded understanding, and my mouth was freed.

“I guess the easy way to do this,” I said, trying for some levity again, “is to make the rule that whatever I do to you, you can do to me.”

He stepped back immediately, and I swayed with the lost contact. By the time I caught my balance and tried to figure out what had happened, he’d stripped the gauntlets from his hands and was reaching for me. I stepped into his arms, wrapping my fingers around the neck of his breastplate, and tipped my chin up to meet his eyes. He had such a fierce look of determination on his face that I was completely baffled for a moment…

…until his fingers threaded through my hair.

“Oh,” I breathed, and laid my face against the cold silverite on his chest as he swirled his fingertips along my scalp. “How long have you wanted to do this?”

“Since about five seconds after you first did it to me,” he answered, a bit grimly.

His hands were ludicrously warm, his fingers pinpoints of fire against my skin, and it was all I could do not to let my eyes roll up into my head. I clung to his breastplate to stay upright, and after a moment he gently spun us and then lifted me so I was perched on the edge of his desk, folded over against him as he worked his hands tirelessly through my hair.

I pulled myself up and slightly away when I realized I was dozing off against his chest. “This isn’t… _Maker_. This isn’t why I came.”

I felt his laugh rather than hear it. “You keep saying that.”

“You need rest. Will you come back with me to my room, where you won’t get disturbed by a million messengers, and let me help you sleep?”

“I would be a fool to say no,” he answered, and withdrew his hands from my hair, stepping back slowly so I could find my balance, “and I am not feeling particularly foolish tonight.”

I pulled my hair out of my face with my own hands, working for a second to put it back into some semblance of order. “Do you want to go there together or separately?”

Cullen stepped back and tugged his gloves back on. “While normally I would argue for propriety, you’re known to be the target of an assassination contract. I will escort you.” He crossed back over to his desk and hefted Genitivi’s tome. He settled the book in the crook of one arm and offered me his left. I slipped my hand through the crook of his elbow and slid off the desk.

“Is the such a thing as propriety with a widow?” I asked as we left his office and crossed the torchlit walls towards the tower holding my rooms. I was aiming for levity, but I immediately felt like I missed the mark.

“You, my lady,” he said softly in reply, “are an advisor to the Inquisition, the leader of its Healers, and an agent of the Blessed Bride of the Maker, herself.” He was silent for a moment, perhaps to let his statement sink in… he didn’t call me the rightful Herald, but it was a near thing. “Anyone who treats you as _just a widow_ is a dead man.”

I squeezed his elbow gently, and fell silent for the remainder of the walk.

Cole was waiting at the door to our tower, but I got the impression Cullen didn’t see him. I pulled the Commander to a stop and reached out to cup Cole’s cheek.

“We can take turns,” the spirited young man said happily. Cullen, to his credit, barely flinched. “I can help you help. Lock the door, keep the watch, buy the time.”

“Thanks, love,” I told him, but by the time the words left my mouth he was gone.

“You could see him?” Cullen asked as we slipped into the tower and started up the stairs.

“I can feel him, sort of,” I answered slowly. “I can’t explain it. I just… know when he’s around.”

Cullen breathed out a sigh. “Thank the Maker _somebody_ can. I’m doubly glad it’s you. That explains why you seem so willing to wander about freely with assassins searching for you.”

“First, I will always feel safe in Skyhold,” I told him with a chuckle. “Second, you haven’t let me be truly alone since this whole mess started. I’m always seeing guards or one of Hellen’s team when I’m out and about. You can’t expect me to believe you don’t have me watched.”

Cullen managed a rather guilty glance at me but didn’t attempt the lie. “I don’t expect you to believe that, no.”

“Can’t admit you’ve got me under guard?”

Cullen smiled and shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck roughly as we reached the top of the staircase and pushed open the door to my rooms. I latched and bolted the door while Cullen did a thorough inspection of my rooms and threw the bar across the trap door.

We met back up on the lower level, and finally the awkwardness set in.

“How do you-“ I started, as he asked “Where did you-“

We laughed, and I shook my head and walked to the sideboard to pour us both glasses of water.

“First, where may I leave my armor?” he asked, rapping his knuckles on his breastplate.

“Wherever you think is best for the armor,” I told him. The sudden idea of Cullen _sans armor_ was making it difficult to concentrate on basic tasks, like pouring water. And breathing.

“One of the couches, I would think, if you don’t mind.”

“I refuse to be responsible for any damage to your armor,” I laughed.

“I  refuse to be responsible for any damage to something Madame de Fer bought for your rooms,” he countered.

“What she doesn’t know can’t hurt me,” I asserted, and he laughed.

I spent far longer pouring water than I could reasonably justify, but it kept me from watching Cullen strip out of the layers of metal and leather that separated me from his skin. When I finally turned around, Cullen was sitting on the opposite couch, looking at his hands rather than the careful array of armor.

“It’s a comfortable couch,” I offered, holding the water goblet out to him as I sat down beside him. He took it with barely a glance up. He was wearing only a thin linen shirt over his thick leather pants and a pair of neatly mended socks. I felt nearly overdressed in my dress, shift, boots, and heavy wool socks. I set my glass down and started working on tugging my boots off.

“I have no idea what to do,” Cullen admitted softly.

“I assume it will be easier on both of us,” I said as I worked the first boot free and tossed it over my shoulder in the general direction of my wardrobe, “if we keep to the couch for now.”

I could see Cullen nodding as I started on the second boot. “There are more blankets in the chest there, at the foot of the bed. I am comfortable with just the one across the back of the couch, most of the time.”

“You sleep on your couch often?” he asked, a bit more levity in his voice as I freed the second boot and threw it haphazardly towards its partner.

“I haven’t slept anywhere _often_ yet,” I countered with a smile. “These rooms are still pretty new to me.”

“Fair enough,” Cullen said, and tipped his water glass towards me. I mimicked the gesture, and we both drained our goblets. I took his glass back and stood to carry it to the sideboard. While I stood there, just out of his peripheral vision, I quickly unbuttoned my dress and stepped out of it, so I was left in just my socks and shift.

He hadn’t moved when I came back, still sitting stiffly a bit left of center on my couch.

I walked over to him and stood facing him for a long moment, once again drumming up my courage. I watched him slowly tilt his head up to meet my eyes, and then slowly slowly _slowly_ lean back into the upholstery. With one last deep breath, I turned and sat down across his lap.

Cullen went still with surprise, and then quickly wrapped his arms around me. I pushed back with my feet so I drifted backwards, pulling Cullen onto his left side. He pulled his feet onto the couch as we slid, and when we landed his head was on my right shoulder, his left arm wrapped around the small of my back, his right arm draped across my waist. I threaded my fingers of my right hand into his hair to keep him still, and reached up with my left to tug the blanket off the back of the couch. I had to kick a bit to get it arranged, but in short order we were both covered and comfortable.

I settled into the cushions, and then forced myself to think about what I was feeling.

Cullen was wrapped around me on the couch, his legs propping up my knees, our feet resting together. His head was resting heavily on my shoulder, my hands already working mindlessly through his hair. I could feel each one of his fingertips where they pressed against me, suddenly separated by only a few thin pieces of cloth rather than layers of material and armor. His left hand was lightly cupping my left hip, and his right hand splayed around my ribcage on the left side. His breath was slow but ragged, and it took a moment of thought before I realized mine sounded much the same.

“Is this okay?” I asked.

He snorted a laugh. “Are you kidding?”

“No.”

He shook his head. “This is so much more than just _okay_.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I prodded.

“Tell me this is real,” he countered.

“This is real,” I reassured him. “You are tangled up with me on my couch, because I want to fall asleep beside you. I want to help you _sleep_. I want to give you a fraction of the security you’ve given me.”

“Say that again.”

“All of it?” I laughed.

“Just the first bit.”

I splayed my hands across his head and pressed him gently into my shoulder as I repeated the words. “I want to fall asleep beside you.”

“How will I know whether or not I’m dreaming?” he asked a moment later, his voice already heavy with sleep.

“Hopefully, you won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sings* I will go down with this ship!


	36. Pt II Ch 9: All New, Faded for Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Admit it, what you really want is Cullen fluff AND Fade metaphysics with Solas.  
> ...at least, that's what I really want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS GUYS  
> I GOT ANOTHER ART  
> [DOODLES](http://dissatisfied-doodles.tumblr.com/)  
> MADE ME MORE ARTS!  
> ...because Gwen needed a romance Tarot, and "Strength" was just too perfect. <3

 

He slept for maybe four hours – and I, not at all – before waking up in the small hours of night.

“Go back to sleep,” I whispered against his hair.

He shook his head. “I’ve already slept more than I have in months.”

“You have too much of a deficit,” I told him. “And the travel made it worse. You need rest. I can write you a note from the infirmary if I have to, but you need to sleep more.”

“You’re a bully,” he complained, but his voice was full of laughter.

“On the other hand, if you’re going to be awake for a bit, I can get up and stretch,” I told him, and he immediately sat up and drew me with him. I turned and slid gently off his lap, and had to remind myself not to arch my back and stretch directly in front of him. I headed for the stairs to the second floor, telling him I wanted to visit the water closet before we went back to sleep.

Cullen took a turn after me – which was done with far less awkwardness than ever would have happened in America, bless Thedas and its no-nonsense approach to bodily functions – and then we were standing in the main room again. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to broach the topic of us spending the rest of the night in the bed, where we would undoubtedly be more comfortable.

Not that the couch was bad. It was just…  _close_. As much as the bed seemed more intimate, being pressed together on the couch was undoubtedly the more physical of the two options.

Cullen made the decision before the question could be posed, laying back down on the couch. This time he stretched out on his back, and then extended an arm to me.

I paused at the side of the couch, before sitting rather tentatively on the very edge of the cushion. Cullen turned to the side so he was curled slightly around me. “What’s wrong?”

I spun the silver chain on my wrist, as I had the day before with Cole. “I want you to have this.”

I glanced over to see the emotions flicker on his face again as I flipped open the clasp and pulled the key off the chain. He couldn’t seem to decide how he should feel.

“Cole has the other,” I told him, since that thought seemed to be part of the milieu. “If something  _were_  to happen to me, I would hate for one of these keys to be lost. And between you… maybe sleeping here, now, and Cole being here all the time, I don’t really  _have_  to have one.”

“The night you… you got these keys,” Cullen said – as the other things that had happened that day were less easy to refer to, “we talked about it in Hellen’s room after you left. I thought you would give it to Hellen, or Dorian, as they seemed the more logical choice, and it was generally agreed you always make the logical choice.”

“Maybe you just aren’t following my logic as well as you think,” I teased, and he chuckled softly. “Or maybe I’m intentionally picking something illogical in order to keep these keys safe, to make the decision nobody expected.”

“No,” Cullen said softly, with a look of wonder on his face as I pressed the key into his palm. “I was more or less alone in disbelieving that you would give it to me, eventually. I just couldn't think…”

“Well then,” I said, and had to stop and take a deep breath to stop the tremble from being too audible, “maybe I’m finally figuring out what everybody else has always known. And maybe… maybe it’s critically important that you have something of mine, something of  _me_ , and I just… I don’t have much to give.”

I was giving him  _everything_  I owned, if I thought about it – everything that I had brought with me from Earth was in that chest, even my old clothes and beloved black-and-white sneakers. The look on his face assured me he had  _definitely_  thought of it.

“Put it with the coin from your brother,” I urged when it was clear he wasn’t going to give the key back. “You know it will be safe there.”

Cullen shook his head as he tucked the key into a pocket of his pants. “Because of course you know about the coin from my brother.”

“It brings you good luck,” I confirmed with a gentle smile. “I appreciate your good luck.”

“Me too,” he breathed, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me down beside him.

It was my turn to use his shoulder as a pillow, and he again wrapped his arms around me as we settled in. I had my right arm tucked up and under his shoulder, while my left rested on his chest. I watched my hand rise and fall in time with his slow breaths.

“Are you going to sleep?” he asked me, some time after I’d thought he had drifted off.

“Yes. Eventually.”

“Have you slept yet?”

“No.”

“What are you thinking?”

It was perhaps obvious that if I hadn’t been sleeping, I’d spent the previous hours lost in thought. Something about his tone told me he wasn’t asking the obvious.

“I’m wondering what you’re dreaming,” I answered. “I’m enjoying being able to be next you, and not having three inches of metal between us.”

Cullen laughed as he protested. “It’s no where near that thick.”

“It feels like it!” I laughed in reply. “It feels like… like we’ve been doing this forever, and not just starting it tonight. I am thinking about how comfortable I am, already, with you. And I’m hoping this works as well with you as it does with Cole.”

“So far so good,” Cullen said, pulling his arms more tightly around me for the span of a breath before relaxing again. “I will sleep better knowing you’re asleep,” he chided.

“That’s fighting dirty,” I complained, and he laughed again.

“I learned from the best,” he countered, and his voice was drowsy again.

This time, I settled my head against his chest and followed him into oblivion.

 

*

 

All told, Cullen got more than fourteen hours of sleep that night. It was well into the afternoon before he woke up for the second time, although I’d been awake and watching him for hours. He froze when he was conscious enough to realize he wasn’t in his rooms, and I was grinning broadly when his eyes slowly drifted over to meet mine.

“Maker,” he breathed as he blinked the sleep from his eyes, “I really can’t tell whether I’m dreaming.”

“Tell yourself to wake up,” I offered.

“No,” he answered immediately, and shifted to turn his face against my shoulder.

I laughed happily. “You should get up and eat something. You won’t cancel your sleep deficit in one night, but this was a good start.”

“You promise this is real?” he asked, his voice muffled rather comically.

“I promise,” I laughed, poking him gently. He recoiled and I was able to slide off the couch.

“How far behind am I on work now?”

“It’s well past noon, so maybe 4 or 6 hours on the day.”

Cullen rocketed off the couch, and took the stairs two at a time up to the water closet. I used my fingers to comb my hair into a semblance of order and set about replacing couch cushions and folding the blankets we’d used. Cullen came down the stairs in a rush and practically flew into his armor.

“Stop!” I called as he turned and made his way to his door. He froze in his tracks.

“First, you are under orders from Hellen to seek medical attention for headaches and nightmares. Your officers can handle one morning.”

He shot me a slightly sheepish look over his shoulder, but took another step towards the door.

“Second, I understand if you don’t want to make this sleeping arrangement a habit, for propriety’s sake. But Solas says it’s not healthy for me to come find you in the Fade at night, so to stay ahead of your nightmares, we should plan to sleep... beside one another... as often as possible.”

That drew him away from the exit. He crossed the room to me, swept up my hand, and pressed a kiss to the backs of my fingers. “I would be remiss to disobey both my Inquisitor’s orders _and_ my heart’s desire.”

My face must have been beet red, with how hot my cheeks felt, but Cullen’s expression didn’t change.

“Get to work, slacker,” I said, waving my other hand to dismiss him.

“If you come to my office tonight with my headache cure,” he said with a smile and a wink as he again headed for the door, “we can discuss the Infirmary Chief’s schedule for my treatment at that time.”

My heart fluttered. “That sounds like a solid plan. I take it you feel better?”

He opened the door, stepped through, and paused just long enough before closing it to answer, “Like sunrise after a storm.”

I realized, maybe ten minutes later, that I was standing in the middle of my room in a shift and socks and mussed hair grinning like a fucking idiot at absolutely nothing. Not unlike Cullen, I had a job I was shirking. I poured a bath, not stopping to wonder where Dorian and Hellen were, since I was confident they had left with Varric that morning… Varric and Bianca fucking Davri. At least I was likely to have seen the last of _her_.

Once cleaned and dressed in my uniform, I made my daily trip to the infirmary. It was already mostly empty; Hellen had done what she could to reduce the infirmary population while she was in Skyhold. Most of those left were those who needed more time to recover strength or had less obvious problems like nightmares. PTSD was rather to be expected after battling Wardens who were turning each other into demons.

I took notes on those who remained, updated the logs and the schedules, made a requisition order for the quartermaster, and was back in my room just as the sky was dimming towards twilight.

I had to tell Solas no help was coming. There was no way around it. I didn’t give myself much time to deliberate over it, chugging the sleeping potion with my (very) late lunch and immediately crawling fully clothed into bed.

I did not trust the dream Solas might find if I fell asleep on the couch.

I was finding it easier to slip into the Fade with every attempt. I had barely closed my eyes when I recognized the swirling bubble that separated me from the rest of the denizens of the Fade. My room was unchanged, but I banished it with a thought and took stock of the raw Fade around me.

Today, there was no one to be seen: no false Solas, no former pets, no _real_ Solas. Just the empty twisted expanse of the Fade greeted me.

The Fade was really growing on me, I had to admit. Demons seemed to be keeping clear of me, which was nice, and the freedom to see anything I could imagine was intoxicating. Even the raw Fade, with its swirling green sky and unpredictable horizons, was becoming a thing of beauty rather than an alien landscape. I was more and more tempted to spend my sleeping hours sitting and watching the rippling effect my presence had on the ethereal world of dreams.

The risks the mages of Thedas took never made more sense than when I laid down at night and contemplated wandering the Fade. Demons be damned: the rewards far outweighed the risks.

I focused on the Dread Wolf, and felt rather than saw the Fade twist around me. I found Solas immediately, sitting on what might have been a riverbank, a sobbing woman crumpled beside him. He seemed be in a kind of trance, sitting cross-legged with his head tipped back and his eyes closed.

“Da’len,” he said as I approached, his eyes immediately opening as he stood. He seemed to solidify somehow, as if he hadn’t truly been there before.

“Hellen cannot come,” I said immediately.

Solas’ face fell. The woman on the ground beside him wailed; I realized it must be Wisdom.

“I am so sorry,” I told her. She was just a wisp, really; translucent to the point she was difficult to separate from the environment. The only thing substantial about her was her sorrow.

“Thank you for the attempt, da’len,” Solas whispered.

“What would you have had Hellen do?” I asked, as he sat down beside the wailing spirit, laying a hand to her shoulder consolingly.

“I would have her open a rift, just enough for Wisdom to escape back into the Fade, once the binding had been broken. I had hoped that, with those whom had summoned her dead, she would be able to break free of that which bound her to the form of Pride. She was weaker than I anticipated, and had not the will to escape.”

“She has to _will_ herself free?” I asked.

Solas’ head snapped up. “Da’len, it is _dangerous_. You must not-“

“I could do it,” I breathed. “I could, couldn’t I? Can I do it from here? Could I rush there?”

Solas shook his head. “You could not arrive in time. And taking such an action from the Fade is inadvisable at best. We do not know what it would do to your defenses, and I am not in Skyhold to ward you.”

I sat down on the riverbank beside the wailing woman, laying my hand to her shoulder opposite the one Solas’ hand rested on. She seemed to lean toward me; I was surprised by how solid she felt, given how immaterial she appeared.

"How is she here?" I asked Solas. "I thought she had been pulled out of the Fade, formed into Pride?"

"They did not summon her fully, else she would be in her own form, rather than that of a demon," Solas informed me. There was a flatness to his tone, a desolation that tore at me. "She is weakening with every moment, her grasp on the Fade faltering. Engaging with the demon would drain her faster, but keeping it static is drawing on her stamina slowly but surely. When she is exhausted, she will die, and Pride will be free to wreck havoc on the Dales without her to temper it. Her essence will eventually reform in the Fade, but she will never be the same. She must be pulled, one way or the other - fully into the Fade, to recover, or fully into our world, to perish."

Something was tickling the back of my mind, but the more I fought for it, the farther it slipped away. I focused instead on the way the water didn’t seem to move in the river before us, but still gave the _impression_ of flowing downstream. Things did not actually move in the Fade, but rather conveyed the idea that their purpose was to move.

That was likely why my taking steps through the Fade seemed to distort-

“Fade Step,” I said out loud. Solas flinched, but the wailing spirit of wisdom fell suddenly silent.

“I could step through the Fade. If my walking through the world moves my body in the Fade, walking here would move my physical body, right? That’s why you keep telling me to stop physically moving?”

“No,” Solas said harshly, although it sounded more like a denial of intent than an answer to my question.

Wisdom raised her head, and the pain in her eyes made me gasp. “Yes,” she rasped.

It was almost too easy, once I realized it was possible. I focused on the physical place Solas sat, the riverbank in the Exalted Plains, and _willed_ myself to be there. As I took a single, purposeful step, I could feel the world lurch around me, and then the wind was knocked out of me and I was suddenly wide awake.

I was on my back in the grass, a thousand twinkling stars laid out above me. The air was _cold_ , as it was already late fall and the Dales were as far south as Skyhold, if a lot lower in elevation. It was cold enough to be uncomfortable, but not debilitating, and I pushed myself into a seated position. Solas was sitting beside me, cross-legged and close-eyed like he had been when I’d found him in the Fade. He woke up with a gasp as I sat up.

The world was spinning, and I was _tired_ like I had never been before in my life.

I pushed past it. Wisdom was standing merely ten feet away.

Or, rather, the Pride demon who _should have been_ Wisdom was looming behind us, far too close to comfort.

Pride was monstrous in a way I was not prepared for. She was massive, towering twenty feet into the air, easily. Her skin seemed to bubble, the slow thick gurgle of methane escaping a tar pit. How flesh that appeared to be armored with scales could simultaneously seem like a noxious fluid was deeply unsettling. There was nothing natural about this creature, from the beaked mouth and absent nose to the misplaced, compound eyes and imperfect symmetry of the bulbous limbs and misshapen body.

The most disconcerting aspect, however, was Pride’s complete silence. She loomed behind us, but didn’t move towards me or indicate she had noted my existence.

“Da’len, you should not-“

“Yell at me later. How do I save your friend?”

I glanced at him when he stayed silent, and saw his fighting to keep his composure. It surprised me into stillness, and I waited for him to speak.

“This… this could kill you, Gwen.”

“I’ve gotten an extra six months, then,” I answered gently. “I’m already here. Let’s not waste the effort.”

My heart seemed to be skipping beats, and I could feel my pulse in my throat. I straightened my shoulders and willed my heart back into a normal sinus rhythm. Solas nodded, swallowed, and then gestured at Pride.

In response, the demon leaned forward and _bellowed_ , spraying Solas and I with a thin layer of sulfurous spittle.

“Ew,” I complained when Pride had fallen silent.

“You must have a stronger will than the mages who bound her. She does not, and I…” He shook his head. “I am not yet as I once was.”

He hadn’t recovered all his power, he meant; he had to have been pretty badass to be considered a god, regardless of his actual birth and mortality.

“It’s coming back, don’t you worry,” I assured him offhandedly. “If this kills me, promise me… Maker. I don’t care so much about the Veil or the eluvians, but promise me you’ll take care of Hellen, you won’t let the anchor kill her. Remove it before it wrecks her hand, if possible, but at least promise me it won’t kill Hellen?”

There was something I couldn’t place in his voice when he answered. “I promise.”

I looked at the Pride demon – really _looked_ at the nasty thing – and noticed I could see the form of Wisdom, grey and ethereal, somehow superimposed within. The scale was all wrong – she was clearly smaller than Pride, but they were still taking up the exact same space. My mind shuddered back from it; physics wasn’t supposed to work this way.

I concentrated on Wisdom, and realized I could feel the separation between Wisdom and Pride. It was abstract and fleeting, but somehow almost tangible.

Pride did not require Wisdom, but without it was weakened to the point of contempt. Wisdom could exist completely separate of Pride, however, and that was the easiest way for me to grasp what it was I had to do.

I walked right up to the Pride demon, thrust my hand into the roiling scales of its skin, and grasped Wisdom’s hand. I heard an unfamiliar voice shout out at a great distance in warning, but before Pride could act I pulled Wisdom free.

The larger demon immediately shrank, and I found myself whisking my hand, as if _shooing_ it away. It staggered backwards, landing flat on its back. It curled up in on itself like a cockroach and then Solas was there, staff whirling. Within seconds the demon imploded.

I could barely spare them a glance. Wisdom clung to me like she was drowning; she made little gasping sounds as if she was fighting for breath.

“Are you alright?” I asked, drawing her into my arms and hugging her close. “What else can I do to help you?”

“I can feel it on you,” she gasped, burying her face in the white shoulder of my tunic. “It’s bleeding through around you.”

“What is?” I asked.

“The Fade,” she answered. “You are steeped in the Fade, it oozes into reality through you.”

“Is it enough?” Solas asked, striding over. “Is the Fade disturbance Gwen causes sufficient?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, it is more than enough.”

“Enough for what?” I demanded, more than a little concerned.

“Survival,” Wisdom replied. “There is enough of the Fade beside you for me to continue to live.”

“Until we can find Hellen and find a way to return her to the Fade,” Solas added.

I nodded, but the adrenaline from my Fade Step and the fear inspired by the Pride demon was draining, and the world seemed to be going black around the edges. I found I had to concentrate on breathing, and my heart was skipping more beats than not.

“Gwen!” Solas called, from an impossible distance away.

I let my vision go, abandoned my hearing and every other connection to reality. The ground rose up to meet me but I didn't feel the impact; I had already lost all physical sensations. I focused on my heart beat, forcing it to become steady and slow.

“Keep breathing,” Wisdom said. Her voice was crystalline, piercing; it was easier to focus on than my own body.

“Slow your heart. More. More. Good. Good, that will last. Now. _Breathe_.”

I drew a breath, let it out, and then concentrated on my heart beat again.

Systole, Diastole. Systole, Diastole. Systole, Diastole. Systole, Diastole.

 _Breathe_.

“Let everything else go,” Wisdom told me. “You are a beating heart. Nothing more. You are a beating heart who needs to _breathe_.”

I drew another breath.

“You can do this forever,” her voice soothed. “Help is coming. I can _feel_ help coming. You just need to focus on your heartbeat. And now – _breathe_.”

Time was stretching out, a cat in a sunbeam, the first yawn of morning. The time between heart beats was the age of the mountains. Each breath marked the life cycle of a star.

“You can do this forever,” Wisdom said again. “Your will can hold out longer than the shore against the tides. Your tenacity can save us both. _Breathe_.”

Another millennium of heartbeats. Another breath.

“I cannot sustain myself here,” she informed me solemnly. “You are the link. You are the safe harbor in the storm. You are the buoy in the seas. You are the Mother and the Herald. For as long as your will holds, I will survive.”

My heart rate slowed, impossibly, further. I breathed only when she told me to.

“Help is coming,” she told me again. “But you don’t need it. You can do this forever. You will save us all.”

I could do this. I could do this forever.

“ _Breathe._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this we're back to my old semi-regular posting schedule. I anticipate the next chapter going live Friday night/Saturday morning (depending on where you live). It is an alternate-POV chapter. Guess who!


	37. Codicil: Roaming Spirits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POV: A Man from the Anderfels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick departure from your regularly schedule Gwen musings.
> 
> *
> 
> In other news, I have been emotionally compromised by a film.   
> My big brother went to see the original Star Wars in the theatre with my mom when he was 2 years old. This universe is in my blood. I'm going to need a little while to process. Sorry the update is later than promised, we had to sit around and decompress for a bit once we got out of the movie.

_Hurry, you must hurry_ , his voice urged me on.

“I know, I know,” I  muttered in return. I had long since abandoned any self-consciousness incurred by talking to myself. “If you hadn’t talked me out of getting a horse I would be simultaneously faster and less tired. Remember this next time.”

 _Use your air to hurry, rather than grumble at me_.

He was right – he was generally right – and I worked to ignore the impulse to rebel against his continuous urgings. I had no idea what exactly had happened with the Pride demon on the riverbank, but I could clearly see the woman lying prone now that Pride was gone.

Who in the Maker’s name were these people, to utterly destroy a Pride demon like that? There were only the two of them – no, three, there were two women lying in the grass, I could see now that I was closer – but I had only seen the mage actually fight.

If I’d had to guess, he’d become enraged by his companion falling to the demon, but that means _one man_ destroyed a Pride demon, and I wasn’t sure even Garrett Hawke could have pulled that off.

Whoever the man – _elf_ – was, he rose to his feet and angled his staff in a challenge as I drew near.

“I can help,” I called before he could begin casting. “I was tracking around the demon and saw it fall. I see your friend is injured, I am…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I had spent too long lying and hiding to so quickly offer my identity.

It seemed I didn’t have to. I felt a surge at the back of my head, and then someone else was speaking with my voice. I tried to listen, and the years of having to listen to myself to know what I was saying had made the task easier, if not flawless. It never ceased to amaze me how much of ordinary communication was done automatically inside one’s own head, while we thought it was with our eyes and ears.

As best as I could gather, the reason I was cuckolded in my own body was the second woman draped across the first on the riverbank. She lifted her head to look up and her face shocked me to my core.

She wasn’t a woman. She was a Fade Spirit, corporeal without a host.

She was impossible.

And she was talking to me.

Well, sort of.

I suddenly had my voice back, and I realized I hadn’t actually heard a word out of my mouth.

 _Typical_ , he chided. I couldn’t help the dry chuckle. _You must help the unconscious woman. She has saved my sister Wisdom from the clutches of Pride, but has exhausted herself. She is alive by the power of her will alone_.

“She’s _willing_ herself alive?” I asked, not attempting to hide my shock.

The elf answered, his dry tone not what I had expected. “She is no mage, yet she was able to Step here through the Fade. The effort has expended her reserves of energy, and to then overpower a Pride demon has left her clinging to life.”

There was too much wrong with his statement. _She_ overpowered the Pride demon? She wasn’t a mage, but she Fade-stepped here? From where? And _why was there a Fade spirit in her lap_?

“If you cannot help, you waste what precious time she has left,” the elf concluded, and it forced me into motion.

“I can help, if you will let me,” I told him, spreading my arms wide to invite his challenge.

The elf crossed his arms and stood aside.

“What in the Void did you tell him?”

 _It was not I. Wisdom urged him to let us pass_.

I quickly crossed to the woman’s side, but when I came within a pace of her form, I hit a wall of Fade energy.

“What…?”

 _Ask fewer questions and accomplish more work_ , the dry voice chided.

The spirit – Wisdom, I recalled – slipped to the other side of the woman’s form but never came out of contact with her. It seemed like she was growing more solid by the moment; that she was present at all was surely tied in with the Fade energy swirling around this place.

I knelt at the woman’s side and checked her aura. She was perfectly healthy – a bit older than she looked, and with a history of trauma etched into her bones – but utterly exhausted. At first glance at her vitals alone, a nonmagical healer would assume she was dead: her heart was beating only a dozen or so times a minute, her lungs filling only once in that time. The Fade energy swirling around her, however, was more than enough to sustain her indefinitely.

For so long as her will held out, at least.

 _Which will be a long time, indeed. She suffers as she waits. Fewer questions, more action_.

“I get it, I get it,” I muttered.

I put my hand to her wrist and felt the wind knocked out of me.

The Fade energy was coming _from her_.

“What in the Maker’s name is going on here?”

_Heal her, you inquisitive ass, and ask your Void-taken questions after!_

“You’ve been spending too much time with me,” I retorted, and drew up my mana to heal her.

There was nothing to heal.

“She’s tired. I cannot heal _tired_ ,” I muttered, trying to think faster to avoid being berated again.

 _You must_ came the immediate reply.

“You must,” Wisdom said, the fear practically dripping from her voice.

I scrubbed my hands across my face and fought to think of options. “She’s drawing energy from the Fade. Could she take lyrium?”

The elf spread his hands. “She is not from our world. She has never been exposed to lyrium. It is impossible to know how she could react.”

“Not from our…” The pieces fell together. “The Seer. Andraste's knicker weasels, this is the Inquisition’s Seeress?”

“She is our Mother,” Wisdom whispered. “You have to save her, _must_ save her.”

 _Please_ the voice in my head pleaded.

I had never heard him beg.

“This is going to suck,” I announced to absolutely no one at all as I pulled a lyrium potion from my belt pouch and thumbed off the cap.

“What are you doing?” the elf asked.

“Improvising,” I answered, and threw back the potion. Without having used any mana, the lyrium _burned_ in my veins, an agony only quantified as _exquisite_.

But that was rather the point.

I wrapped my hands around her wrists and leaned forward to speak into the Seeress’ ear.

“Pull,” I told her, and envisioned the burning energy of the lyrium, now liquid vitality in the body of a mage, flowing into her hands.

Her brow furrowed. Her fingers twitched but nothing changed.

“Her name,” I demanded.

“Gwendolyn Rhiannon Murray,” the elf intoned. “But she prefers simply Gwen.”

“Gwen,” I called, and her eyebrows raised. “Gwen, _pull the energy from me_.”

Her brow furrowed and she shook her head minutely.

I couldn’t believe she was _alive_ , much less able to physically respond. I cast about for a way to make her understand. She wasn’t a mage! She would only know what she had read, and what her friends had-

“It’s a trick Hawke showed me,” I told her, and saw her lip twitch into a ghost of a smile. An instant later, her hands flexed, and I twisted my grip so my hands were in hers. She tightened her hands on mine and then _pulled_ , the energy coursing through my limbs flowing first into my hands and then _out_ , drawn into the depleted body of the woman I now knew was Gwen.

Which meant the elf was Solas, the mage who had saved Garrett’s life in the Fade. I owed the man one demon of a debt.

I was monitoring the lyrium I’d ingested, not wanting to put myself into the same position Gwen was in; I would have to pull away as soon as she started drawing from my own reserves, and I narrowed my focus down to the different sources of energy in my veins.

It was unnecessary. The instant the energy I'd gleaned from the lyrium was expended, Gwen released my hands and stopped the transfer. I looked up in time to meet her gaze as her eyes wearily opened.

“Anders,” she said, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Guilty as charged,” I answered.

“I would like,” she said brokenly, with hints of an accent that sounded exactly like the Qunlat Merrill had warned me of, “to offer you… a job.”

I sat back on my heels and laughed. “Lucky for you I was on my way to Skyhold. I would offer you my eternal gratitude for saving Garrett’s foolhardy ass, but it seems I may have just stumbled upon the perfect repayment plan.”

“Consider us even,” Solas said, dropping to a crouch beside Wisdom and laying his hands on both women’s heads. He earned matching weak smiles from them.

“Hellen,” Gwen said, still struggling a bit against what had to be a bone-deep weariness, “needs help… learning how to be… a spirit healer.”

“Recruit for the Inquisition later,” Solas chided her. “We must get you someplace safe where you can rest until you are strong enough to travel back to Skyhold.”

“Send a raven,” she said.

“I will.”

“Soon,” she insisted.

Solas laughed. “I know where to find the Inquisition forward camp. The sooner we get you there, the sooner the raven can be sent.”

“Let’s go then,” she said, and pushed herself off the ground.

“No, wait, how are you-“ I fumbled for her, desperate to keep her from moving. She laughed lightly and pulled Wisdom to her feet.

“I am well enough to walk a bit,” she said lightly. Her breathing was becoming more regular with every moment, and the strain was easing from her features.

“This is how you did it,” she said to Solas. It was a definite statement, not a question.

A ghost of a smile drifted across Solas’ features, but he did not respond. I didn’t try to puzzle out their exchange; clearly there was information involved that I was not privy to.

They were walking, then, and I was to catch up or be left behind. I brushed my aura against her, and stumbled out of astonishment.

She was near to bursting with Fade energy. Before she burned so low as to appear dead, and now her aura looked like Hawke in the middle of a battlefield, siphoning up blood like a waterspout.

“How are you doing this?” I asked.

 _Your giving her energy has taught her how to pull it from the Fade_ , Justice informed me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he sounded impressed. _She will not exhaust herself again_.

“I’m a fast learner,” she said with a smile. She was pulling Wisdom along, then, the spirit caught up in the swirling energy around the Seer.

“This is how your spirit is staying corporeal?” I asked. Justice was suspiciously silent.

“Just until we can get her home,” Gwen laughed, and then stopped dead in her tracks. “Could we do something like this for Justice? Did he want to go home?”

It was nearly enough to make me stumble again. Not even Hawke had been so accepting of my spiritual passenger, and he was a Void-taken blood mage. “What do you mean, does he want to go home?”

She tilted her head at me, but the smile never slipped. I couldn’t help but see what had ol’ Commander Curly so infatuated. If not for Merrill, I suspected Garrett would have been in the same boat. “Justice. You two… got together, I suppose, in Amaranthine, when you were a Warden, right? I thought… I was rather under the impression that you did it so he had an option outside of occupying corpses.”

Justice grumbled at the description, which took me back to the edge of laugher. “More or less. But I need Justice. He’s the spirit half, I’m the healer half. Without Justice I wouldn’t be a true spirit healer.”

I could almost watch her mind working. It was fascinating. The egghead – as Hawke had insisted Merrill refer to him in her letters to me – seemed similarly bemused. “So… if Hellen wants to be a true spirit healer… she needs to form some manner of bond with a spirit? Does it need to be a full symbiosis like you and Wynne? Or would just an alliance work?”

Fascinating was not a strong enough word. “Wynne?”

She rolled her eyes at me. “Don’t tell me Solona never told you about…” she tapered off. “Solona was a spirit healer, too, yes? What sort of spirit does she work with?”

Justice surged forward when he sensed my hesitation to answer. Solona’s secrets were not mine to share.

 _“Solona met a spirit of Valor during her Harrowing_ ,” I heard Justice say with my voice. _“Valor was intrigued by her, and when the time came to make her alliance, he was quick to step in and volunteer. Every spirit healer has a unique arrangement._ ”

I had to almost physically wrestle him down to regain control of my body. “What is _with_ you today?”

“Was that Justice?” Gwen asked, bright-eyed.

“Yes,” I grunted.

“Tell him thank you for me.”

“Oh, he can hear you,” I sighed.

She laughed again, and the sound was infectious. I found myself grinning at her.

“So Solona just had a pact? Does Valor ever… take over, like Justice does?”

“No,” I answered, since Justice would simply take over again if I didn’t. “Justice and I agreed to take all things equally, which was honestly a rather shit deal for me, but I was naïve and he was a-“ I damn near swallowed my tongue as Justice surged forward, but this time I fought him off. Gwen started laughing again, clearly having picked up on the signs that I was arguing with my spirit passenger. “Damn bully,” I finished eventually.

“And Wynne’s spirit was Faith?”

“Yes,” Wisdom chirped.

She and Gwen were still holding hands; I realized the grip was one of white knuckles and tensed forearms. Something had scared both of them to their cores. A moment’s consideration – and the equivalent of an eyeroll from Justice – brought the realization that Gwen’s death would have resulted in Wisdom’s perishing as well.

We made it to the Inquisition forward camp without incident – not even the wolves seemed to be out tonight – and I realized I had walked within a hundred paces of it not an hour before. Not that I would have been welcomed without Gwen and Solas, but the idea that I’d missed an opportunity for shelter was disconcerting. And, I have to admit, it was a bit impressive to know the Inquisition scouts could hide in the relative open plains of the northern Dales.

We were challenged before we got close, but the _Halt_ was followed almost immediately by an exultant “Gwen!” and a long string of elven – mostly curses.

“Lyal!” Gwen cried in return, and then she was swept up into the arms of one of the scouts. I noticed Wisdom lifted lightly off her feet to keep contact with Gwen when the human went airborne in the ecstatic elf’s arms.

“How are you here? Why weren’t we notified?” the scout was asking.

“I need to send a raven as soon as possible,” Gwen answered. “Let’s get the bird ready to fly and then I’ll tell you as much as I can.”

“Gwen!” another voice barked, and my eyes were drawn to an extremely irate dwarf wearing armor indicating she was the leader of this band of scouts. “What in the Void are you doing out here? Do you not know what a civil war is?”

“Lace! Is Hellen coming this way? I need to get ravens in the air before Cullen has a coronary.”

“Hellen will be here eventually. I’m expecting the Chargers in another two days’ time, to help subdue the Pride demon we noticed on the riverbank.”

The dwarf – Lace, I surmised – drew us into camp without a second look at any of the rest of Gwen’s party. It seemed _I’m with her_ was good enough for Lace and Lyal, and if it was good enough for them it was good enough for everyone else. We were quickly assigned a tent, rations, and a quiet space for Gwen to write her missive back to Skyhold.

“Send it to Leliana, better she break it to Cullen so he has someone to talk him down,” she told Lace, whose last name seemed to be Harding, judging by how the rest of the scouts addressed her.

“How did you get out without the Commander knowing you were leaving? Without Leliana sending word to be on the lookout for you? How did you get into the Dales without us seeing you?” Lyal was obviously flabbergasted.

Gwen – in a move that surprised me to my boots – looked to Solas before attempting an answer. Solas shook his head, slightly, _no_. Neither Lyal nor Lace seemed to notice the exchange. “Forgive me, Lyal, but I’m not sure I understand what happened well enough to explain it. I’m sure I’ll be missed soon, if Cole…” She trailed off and looked at Solas with eyes round with concern. “Cole! Would Cole know?”

Solas was nodding. “You have likely scared a year off Cole’s life,” the elf commented dryly. “In addition to everyone else involved in this endeavor.”

I would have been angry on Gwen’s behalf if the woman hadn’t immediately reached out to lightly swat the elf mage. “Fuck you, ha’hren. I did you a solid and you know it.”

These two had the single most bizarre relationship I had ever seen, and I travelled with Garrett bloody Hawke. She _obviously_ deferred to him – but here in the camp she was clearly the most senior member of the Inquisition present. Solas wasn’t even offered a quill, while Gwen was being brought hot drinks and a high-backed chair to help her correspondence along. The rest of us might not even exist, as far as the Inquisition was concerned.

Which, honestly, I was rather fine with. The less I existed, the better.

Gwen’s letter was strapped to a bird, who was promised to be airborne as soon as the sun broke, and then the four of us were ushered into a tent. I managed to read her words over her shoulder as she carefully scrawled them across the paper she’d been given. Her handwriting was sloppy and unsure, and it occurred to me that she hadn’t been in Thedas long enough to have written much; that she was writing at all was impressive, to say the least.

_Sister Nightingale,_

_I am writing from the Exalted Plains. I brought myself here on an ill-considered whim last night, rather than tell Solas that no help was incoming. I have helped him save his friend and am now trapped here under his watchful eye. Lace has informed me that an escort will arrive in two days’ time, and I will be here until then. Please pass my sincere apologies on to the Commander for what I am sure was a terrible scare, and remind him he needs his sleep._

_Gwendolyn Rhiannon Murray_

“I feel _fine_ , really,” Gwen was insisting, as Solas was putting her to bed.

“Because you are suffused with Fade energies,” Solas replied in a tone that brokered no argument. “They can be used to sustain the body at rest, but _not_   one hiking through the Dales, _nor_ one that is currently supporting another.” He glanced meaningfully at Wisdom, who seemed positively sparkling with happy energy. “You require true rest, and food, and _time_ before you ever even _consider_ another act such as this.”

I expected her to argue – her eyes flashed like she wanted to – but she stayed silent and gave the elf a sharp nod. “As you say, ha’hren. I will make the long walk home.”

“You will do nothing of the sort,” Lyal said, sticking her head through the tent flap. “You’re going to sit your happy ass down and wait for the Chargers to arrive to escort you back to Skyhold.”

“You already received word from Hellen?” Gwen asked, confused.

Lyal shook her head. “Lace’s orders. When you’re in the field, she’s the boss. Unless you’re Hellen, and even then, Lace gives the Inquisitor reports and the Inquisitor acts on them.”

Gwen blew out a heavy sigh. “Krem is going to _kick my ass_.”

“As it should be,” Solas intoned.

Gwen grinned impishly at him, and I wondered at the twist of fate that drew me feet-first into this quagmire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Resuming Gwen POV with the next chapter.


	38. Pt II Ch 10: The Waiting Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to our regularly scheduled Gwennie musings. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took my mom to see Star Wars tonight.  
> My soul hurts.

What were the odds of _Anders_ of all people wandering the Dales when I was clinging onto life by my fingernails?

It was almost enough to make a girl religious.

Given I’d already been handed some pretty convincing evidence that _there actually was somebody looking out for me_ , it was almost too easy to lay the credit for Anders’ timely intervention at Andraste’s feet.

I had plenty of time to think about it as I lay in the tent for the entirety of the next day. Solas was like a mother hen, not letting me move more than absolutely necessary. I got up to use a cleverly hidden latrine in the woods and wash in a basin; end of list. Meals were brought to me, and I was waited on hand and foot by Anders.

The man seemed fascinated by me, and frankly the feeling was mutual. It didn’t take long before I got the mage to talking, and everything I knew about the events of Kirkwall were set on their head.

“Well of course _Varric_ said that,” he scoffed after I finished retelling the story as I knew it. “You learned everything from Varric’s interrogation! You really expect it to be accurate?”

It was a valid point; the second game _had_ been told from the viewpoint of Varric’s narrative during his imprisonment by Cassandra. It was rather heavily implied that he’d lied through his teeth through most of it. Since I’d been in Thedas, I’d supplemented my information via Varric’s book – again, a likely fabrication – and Cullen, who was tangentially involved at best.

“Of course Justice has a flare for Vengeance,” he said dismissively, fluttering a hand as he settled into what I had come to recognize as _storyteller mode_ from my many nights in the tavern with Varric. “Just as a spirit of Wisdom has a tendency towards Pride, if you’ll forgive me for using you as an example.”

Wisdom gave a whimsical sort of shrug to her shoulders and smiled. “You speak only the truth, no forgiveness needed.”

“Why didn’t I ally with a spirit of Wisdom?” he sighed rhetorically. I saw the flare of blue light around his pupils that was indicative of a struggle with Justice, but even as the grin split my face Anders emerged victorious. “I can’t get over how amused you are by Justice.”

“You were portrayed as essentially a violent revolutionary-turned-abomination who blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall,” I reminded him. “By comparison, this is fucking _hilarious_..”

Anders waved his hand again. “Plain bigotry. And besides, I didn’t blow up the Chantry.”

My jaw dropped. “You didn’t?”

“Well, I mean, I _did_. We all did. It was my plan, of course. But if you think _anyone_ is capable of sneaking around behind the backs of _that group of people_ , you’re unhinged. Especially me! Fenris was practically attached to my asshole when Garrett wasn’t around, glorious prick that he is. And Aveline’s _job_ was keeping tabs on all of us.”

“You… all…”

“The Chantry was corrupt. Meredith never could have gotten away with everything she did without the support of the Revered Mother. The closest Varric got to showing that in his book was Karl's being made Tranquil... but even then, the truth was worse. He'd been given the brand while under asylum protection inside the Chantry. When Varric wrote the book, he knew that telling the complete truth would lose us more sympathy than it earned - no one outside of Kirkwall would believe how bad the Chantry had gotten, and nobody inside Kirkwall needed to be told. I made the plan, Carver was the inside man, Hawke pulled it all off... even Fenris supported it when we learned of Tranquil being sold to Tevinter as slaves. We did it together. But there was no reason for us all to go down for it... not when we had Varric damn Tethras with us. I was already hiding from the Templars, the Chantry, _and_ the Wardens. I was going to have to stay in hiding regardless. If I was the only one implicated, everybody else could roam free and _help me_ stay in hiding. So Varric spun his tale, I was the evil uncontrollable abomination, and Isabella gave me a grand tour of the Waking Sea.  I don’t stay anywhere for long right now, and after, what, ten years in Kirkwall? It’s a bit difficult to wrap my head around. But Hawke’s in Skyhold with Merrill, and they said it would be safe for me there, so I’ve been making my way there for a few weeks now.”

“You know that from Merrill’s letters? She told you how to find Skyhold?”

Anders smirked. “Not quite.” He lifted a leather thong that was suspending a glass vial around his throat. A closer look at it showed it was filled with blood.

“Whose?” Solas asked.

“Hawke’s,” Anders answered. “And Maker help the man who takes it from me.”

Solas actually snorted. He refrained from answering, though, and instead ducked out of the tent. He’d been going out frequently _for air_ and I had decided against pressing the issue.

Solas was never one for close company, and the four of us had slept practically one on top of each other in the tent the night before. Anders was excited to experience the bubble of reality I projected into the Fade, and Solas entered the Fade with him to make sure _I_ stayed asleep on the correct side of the Veil. Wisdom hadn’t left my side; I shuddered away from the thought and clutched her hand a bit tighter.

“What is that?” I asked Anders instead.

“A phylactery,” he answered, seemingly surprised I hadn’t known.

“Hawke’s phylactery?”

Anders nodded.

“But Hawke’s an apostate.”

Anders’ eyebrows went up. “You think only the Chantry makes phylacteries?”

“Well, _yeah_. They’re pretty fucking evil.”

“Okay,” Anders said, leaning forward. “First, _Chantry_ phylacteries are evil. Chantry phylacteries are demonic magic, the kind of bullshit they claim all blood magic is; they’re done against a mage’s consent, and they use compulsion. A Chantry-made phylactery can be used to _force_ a mage to return to the Circle. This? This was made _by Hawke_ and it was made without any compulsion attached. He can always find it, because it’s _his blood_ , and I can use it to find him. He added some spellwork to the one he gave Merrill, and she can use it to talk to him. I didn’t really think that was necessary for him and I. That, and he figured I’d use it to fuck with him.”

I sat staring at the rebel mage for a very long time. He seemed to understand exactly where my head was, though, and gave me a comforting sort of smile as he waited.

“How did they get _so much_ right, and get you _so wrong_?” I asked after sorting through everything he’d told me.

“I guess that depends on who _they_ are,” he laughed. “Everybody’s got their motives.”

It was a valid point, if an uncomfortable one. Anders was clearly anti-Circle, anti-Chantry, and anti-rules in general. Would Andraste have vilified him in the games I’d been fed? Could she possibly agree with the direction the Circles – and by extension, Her Chantry – had taken, and made Anders more than what he seemed? Was it really just a too-literal interpretation of Varric’s book?

Was I really considering whether or not _Andraste_ was throwing shade?

“Give me a minute here,” I breathed. “First, _you_ didn’t blow up the Chantry, it was a group effort that you willingly took the fall for. Second, _all_ spirit healers form an alliance with a spirit, thus you and Wynne are the rule rather than the exception. Third, blood magic and compulsion are not necessarily the same thing. Why have I not heard any of this before?”

Anders grinned at me. “First, I _am_ a violent revolutionary. I don’t exactly toe the Chantry line. Second, most spirit healers are much more akin to Wynne, and nobody ever knows they have an actual spirit helping them. It’s not something we’re very vocal about, since it makes us a target.”

The grin slid from his face as he finished his sentence, as if only just realizing what he’d said.

“I heard that part,” I told him sadly, reaching out to take his hand. He shuddered slightly as our palms met but twined our fingers together.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“What is it about me that has you so on edge?”

He seemed to listen to Justice for a moment before sighing. “You… you do something uncomfortable to the Fade.”

I laughed. “That’s putting it lightly.”

“I can feel it when I get close, feel like I’m walking into a wall of Fade energy. But actually touching you? It’s like handling raw lyrium. My whole arm tingles.”

“Hellen and Solas haven’t ever mentioned that.”

“It’s Justice,” Wisdom intoned softly from beside me. “Anders is feeling what Justice feels.”

“Would Cole have felt it?”

She shrugged. “I have not met this _Cole_ but it is possible he does feel the difference in you.”

“That would explain why he was so adamant about me being _like him_. I didn’t believe him for the longest time, but he was the first person to say it.”

"Perhaps, although from your description I would say you are nothing like him. You are a fixed point; the Fade presses against the waking world around you."

Anders was looking at me thoughtfully. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're the opposite of a rift. Where, at a rift, there  _is no_ Veil, you're almost like  _concentrated_ Veil. In function, if not in form or substance, I mean."

"I am not made of Veil," I laughed, trying to dismiss the notion, knowing full well Solas could hear our conversation.

"You need not be made of the same substance to serve the same purpose," Wisdom told me softly.

Anders pointed at the spirit as if to say  _I told you so_. I shook my head, and he recognized the need for a topic shift. For a violent revolutionary, he was surprisingly empathetic.

We drifted in idle chat the rest of the day. I eventually came to realize the deference I was treated with was Justice’s influence; It was echoed by Wisdom, and Anders was irreverent by nature. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that Cole had been more deferential to me than to anyone else, except maybe Solas and Hellen. He came when I called him, and spent most of his time protecting me.

Once I recognized the pattern, it haunted me. I didn’t know how to ask – or whether to trust the answer I received – so I filed it away as something to look into later. Maybe Dorian could find me a spirit to talk to that wasn't horribly biased in my favor.

The Dales were geographically near to Skyhold, being the first flat lands you entered once you came down out of the Frostbacks, and so I expected the raven we’d sent that morning would have delivered its message by dusk. We could reasonably expect an answer the next night, if there wasn’t much argument on what orders to send.

Knowing Cullen had only spent one night wondering – worrying? – about me was mollifying. I fought with Solas for easily an hour as the sun was starting to sink into the western horizon about whether I should search for the Commander’s dream. We’d reached an impasse – with me essentially agreeing it could be terrible but insisting I should try anyways – when the raven flapped noisily into camp.

I darted out of our tent, ignoring Solas’ barked order for me to continue resting and grinning at Anders’ appreciative laugh. I pulled Wisdom along with me, our fingers yet entwined. None of the Inquisition scouts seemed to even see her, and she had this way of moving that made no impact on the environment. I wondered if this was the root of Cole’s ability to stay hidden and be quickly forgotten: the only people who saw Wisdom were the ones who knew she was there.

I had barely reached Lace’s little command post before she re-rolled the note and turned to come find me. The smile she aimed in my direction was almost gruesome.

“Good call, writing the Nightingale,” she said. “She included a reply for you.”

“Do the orders for me to remain here until the Chargers arrive yet stand?” I asked as I took the proffered missive.

“They do indeed. There’s been a delay, however. It might be the better part of a week before Bull gets here. You are to stay local until you’ve got an appropriate armed escort.”

I nodded my understanding and then pulled Wisdom against me, wrapping an arm around her to free up my hand, so I could use both to unroll the tiny message.

I hadn’t see Leliana’s handwriting before, but it was perfection itself. It was almost calligraphy, with how ornate her capital letters had been drawn.

_Gwen,_

_I have passed on your explanation – and apology, fear not – to the Commander._

_He responded in much the manner you might have expected. His anger is not unjustified; Cole informed him of your disappearance almost immediately, although his explanation was unclear. Your missive has done little to ameliorate that confusion. We will hold a proper debriefing upon your return._

_Expect word from the Commander soon. I will make him wait to write until he is calm._

_Nightingale_

“Oh, man, they’re _all_ pissed,” I said, resisting the urge to whistle through my teeth.

“You should see what she wrote _me_ ,” Harding laughed. “I have permission to tie you down if I feel like you’re not going to wait for the Chargers.”

“That will not be necessary,” I replied, joining her laugh. “And they’re right to be angry. I just about got myself killed.”

“Was it worth it?” Lace asked, sobering quickly at the thought.

I glanced over my shoulder at Solas, who was waiting for me at our tent with his arms crossed over his chest. Wisdom’s cool fingers tightened briefly in my grasp. What would the saving of his friend do to alter Solas’ path? What trust had I earned by showing myself willing to pay any price to help him? Where exactly lay the tipping point between _destroy this world in fire_ and _learn to live with my mistakes_ , and how much closer had this act brought us to his redemption?

“I do not know everything the future may bring,” I told Lace softly. “But, yes… it is entirely possible that this risk will pay dividends for decades to come.”

Lace blinked uncertainly. “That one Pride demon was this big of a deal?”

I grinned, knowing Wisdom was completely invisible to Harding and the scouts. “Bigger,” I answered.

She waved me off and I returned to the tent. Before Solas could chastise me for running off unsupervised – he seemed to be able to tell exactly what percentage of my available energy came from the Fade, from Anders’ lyrium infusion, and from my own metabolism, although I was sure that was complete bullshit – I handed him the missive from Leliana.

“I’m going to look for him,” I told Solas in no uncertain terms after he’d read the message. “You can help me or not, it doesn’t change my decision. I disappeared the morning after I… after I showed him how I could help him with his nightmares. You’re important to me, Solas, and I appreciate your concern, but he needs to know I didn’t abandon him.”

Solas looked like he wanted to argue, but Wisdom reached out to him, laying a gentle hand to his cheek. She said something in elvhen, and Solas closed his eyes.

“You are right, da’len,” Solas conceded. “It is not the quantity of your life that you must defend, but rather the quality. Go to your Commander. I will guard your sleep.”

I almost threw myself into the tent, eager to be comfortable for when the sun went down. If I thought I could be prepared for sleep with any haste, however, it was disproved by Anders’ inescapable smirk.

“You disappeared the morning after you _what_ with Commander Curly?”

“That is frankly none of your business.”

“I thought Merrill said you were married?”

It hurt less than it might have, a few weeks previous. As it stood, it was still a deeply painful twinge. “I got my memory back, about how I came to be here. I guess you were already on the move when that happened, maybe Merrill didn’t tell you. I’m… his name was Patrick, and he died. The day I came here. I’m a widow. I didn’t know until… recently.”

The grin slid off his face. “Andraste’s ankle mole, I’m sorry. I put my foot right in that one.”

I flinched. “Can we please not talk about Andraste’s ankle mole?”

Solas coughed, and I shot him a sharp look. “You and I need to have a long conversation regarding your dubious fucking advice, by the way.”

His face was kept very carefully blank, and Anders looked back and forth between us, torn between amusement and confusion. Anders seemed to find everything funny. It was endearing. I couldn’t imagine the conversation that led to his little family of merry misfits agreeing to let him take the fall for their actions in Kirkwall.

“Cullen and I have just begun to come around to a discussion of options beyond a very professional friendship,” I told him, more out of a growing sense of genuine fondness than a belief he really needed to know. “I convinced him that if he were to fall asleep with me near him, his sleep would be warded. His nightmares have become worse as his withdrawals progress, and I-“

“Withdrawals?” Anders asked, starting forward so that he halfway rose to his feet. “Did he stop taking lyrium?”

I nodded. “He did. Right when he left Kirkwall.”

Anders sat back heavily. “That doesn’t have a very high survival rate. You know that, right?”

I frowned at him. “He will survive this.”

Anders’ eyes flew open wide. “Do that again!”

“Do what again?”

“Say something like that! Your will was _palpable_ , it was amazing. That was like a demon battle with no demon. Do it again!”

I laughed. “You’re something else.”

“Did you feel that?” he asked Solas.

The elf, caught up in Anders’ enthusiasm, managed a small chuckle. “I did. I have been trying, vainly, to convince her of the power of her will. Perhaps you will have more success.”

“How about this?” I said, digging my way into my bedroll. “You assholes _will_ let me go to sleep.”

Anders leaned back and roared with laughter. “Oh, absolutely. Anything you say.”

 

*

 

I found and discarded four false Cullens in the Fade before finally locating the real one.

The demons were poor copies; the Cullen they created was always either too solid (for the Fade) or too young. The fourth came closer to reality, but still – the _feel_ of him was different. I could tell with barely a glance that the curly-haired man before me was only a facsimile.

I found him, in the end, by dreaming myself to be in Skyhold. I flew into his office and waited.

He flickered into existence at his desk, briefly. He was ephemeral and gone almost as quickly as he arrived, but he was there. Still awake, it seemed, fighting off sleep as he worked. I stood behind his desk and I waited. He flickered again and then disappeared. I didn’t want to will myself into his office – the Fade Step the night before had been too easy, far too easy – so I was very careful to only move my Fade-self through this version of Skyhold. I went looking for Cullen, knowing he slept nearby, and hoping that knowledge was enough to lead me to wherever his actual dream took him.

My heart broke when I found him in my room, on my couch. I was there – a version of me, at least – and I got the distinct impression that Cullen was trying to will himself to dream of only me. I inserted myself between his head and the couch during a flicker – his connection to the Fade was tentative at best – and carefully drew him into my aura.

He solidified, if only slightly, but the flickering ceased. I held his head in my lap and threaded my hands through his hair, gently massaging his scalp as he dreamed of being with me.

“I’m well,” I told him. “I’m safe. I’m coming back to you. I’m sorry I hurt you, sorry I scared you, sorry I worried you. I’m coming home. I promise.”

We stayed there for what felt like an hour.  I heard Solas’ voice long before I saw him.

“It is nearing dawn,” he said, from somewhere over my shoulder. “You are keeping him here overlong.”

I nodded. “Cullen,” I whispered. He blinked, looking up at me. “Wake up,” I said, and his eyes flew wide for an instant before he disappeared. I stood, and the image of my apartment vanished. I was facing Solas across an expanse of the Raw Fade.

“Your turn, da’len,” he prompted. I nodded, and woke up.

 

*

 

“You should not make a habit of this,” Solas told me over breakfast. “It is too easy to become overconfident.”

I could only nod. “I had to concentrate on _not_ Fade-Stepping, now that I’ve done it once. I’m a little afraid to know what else is possible, if only because I won’t try it if I don’t know it can be done.”

“Then I will be sure to keep as many of my own discoveries from you as possible,” he responded mildly. I could hear the tension in his voice, but only because I knew him well.

That I knew him well was a thought that buoyed me through the next four days. I had become legitimate friends with Solas, earned his trust and his confidence. I was still _furious_ with him for his sending me off to see the statue of Andraste, but I was calmed by the knowledge that I would be able to sit him down and have a conversation about his motives and the implications therein. Anders’ presence kept us from having the conversation in camp – and Lace’s glare kept us from having it _outside_ of camp – but I was confident it would happen eventually.

I spent my days lounging in camp, speaking with the scouts who were off duty and taking turns at the cooking fire. I helped keep the camp clean and tidy, and learned what I could about the care of the ravens. One of the birds, Harding’s clear favorite, traveled everywhere with Lace. He had gotten to the point where he would squawk her name whenever she neared. It was possible to tell where in camp Lace was by how emphatically the raven would call “Lace! Lace!”

I spent my nights – _every_ night – in Skyhold looking after Cullen’s dreams. I had yet to find any indication that demons were involved in his nightmares. I also found him in the same place every night – asleep on the couch in my room. I was starting to wonder if that was where he was actually going to sleep at night, or if the memory was strong enough to pull him there. Perhaps, even, he was trying to recreate the dream or the feeling, and concentrating on the feel of sleeping beside me on the couch when we went to sleep in a way to control his dreams.

Whatever it was, it was working. Solas was able to confirm I was keeping Cullen asleep for a full 6 hours every night, which was unheard of for the Commander.

Not that Cullen gave any indication of his sudden ability to sleep in his letter to me, which arrived as Leliana had promised: soon. The very next day, soon.

_Lady Gwen,_

_I was made aware of your disappearance within moments of it happening, thanks to a frantic visit from Cole. I can only assume that your sudden departure to the Dales was only ill-conceived, and not ill-intentioned. As Leliana has stated, we will expect a full debriefing upon your return._

_The Dales have not been cleared for formal Inquisition activity, and as such you are to remain within the camp and hidden until the Chargers arrive to provide your escort back to Skyhold. This notice should be shown to the Iron Bull in lieu of formal orders; given your presence there, he should understand the importance in returning you safely._

_Commander Cullen Rutherford_

Solas set a limit of five nights for my forays into Skyhold. After that, Cullen needed to have two nights alone so that I could be sure to get the sort of restorative sleep my own body and mind needed. I didn’t notice any adverse effects, but Solas insisted he could tell when my physical energy was running low, and I was too buoyed by Fade energies.

When I woke up on the sixth morning, I was momentarily heartbroken. I had come to look forward to finding Cullen’s dream, to making sure the Commander was sleeping peacefully even in my absence. The idea that I wouldn’t be beside him that night threatened to wreck my day.

Luckily for me, the Chargers rolled into camp an hour past noon.

There was something intrinsically different about them, although I couldn’t immediately put my finger on what was off. They were battered and tired, with poorly repaired rents in their armor and hastily bandaged wounds. Stitches looked particularly harried.

Stitches was the first indicator of what had happened, actually, as he was the only person who was happy to see me.

“Every damn one of them has at least a minor burn,” he said in lieu of a greeting as he strode over to me, “and I’ve got a horse that can’t bear weight that we weren’t convinced couldn’t recover. Can you do anything for horses?”

“You’ve got two hours!” Krem called from the far side of the column. “Triage, patch armor, and be back on the road! We’ve got a demon to kill!”

“Demon’s been cleared,” Harding shouted to him. “Stand down!”

As Bull stalked toward Harding and I was drawn off with Stitches, Wisdom still hard by my side, I gestured for Anders to come with me.

“What happened?” I asked as Stitches called the Chargers to line up to be seen. Twitch was pushed to the front, with third degree burns raking the side of his face. “These look too small to be dragon fire.”

Stitches snorted. “Dragon would be more deaths and fewer injuries. Didn’t actually lose any. Damn spellbinders.”

“Venatori? You hit Venatori between here and Skyhold?”

Stitches shook his head. “Went looking for them on the Storm Coast.”

My feet stopped working. I stumbled to a stop as Anders caught me by the shoulders to steady me.

“The burns are all from the Venatori?”

“Nah, most of ‘em are from the Dreadnaught when it blew.”

“Stay with Stitches, help who you can,” I said to Anders as I turned around and ran in the direction Bull had gone.

“Where’s she going?” I heard the chirurgeon ask behind me.

“No bloody idea,“ Anders answered. He started to say something else, but I was quickly out of earshot.

Wisdom’s hand was strangely grounding as I went looking for Harding. The calls of her raven said she had taken Bull to the table where she worked on dispatches, and I found him there reading through the correspondence from Skyhold. She stepped to the side as I approached. I put my hand on Bull’s shoulder and waited until he looked up.

He knew I knew – he had to – and his eyes were heavy and guarded as he met my gaze.

“You glorious bastard,” I told him, raising my hands to cup his cheeks. “Tell me you did what I think you did.”

“I am Tal’Vashoth,” he said roughly.

I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Thank the Maker,” I breathed as I hugged him.

“It cost us an alliance with the Qun,” he argued, but he wrapped his long arms around me and gently returned the hug.

“Which they would have ignored after a few years anyways, and taken you out with it.”

“You can’t…” he pulled away suddenly. “You _do_ know that.”

“The Chargers would have died. The Qun would have betrayed you _and_ the Inquisition. And Hellen would eventually be forced to kill you.”

Bull nodded his head slowly and sat back. “You never said…”

“I didn’t know the invitation had come.”

“You couldn’t have warned me?” There was a tense sort of anger in his tone, like he was holding back his rage until he had all the facts.

I tried to make my tone as non-confrontational as possible. “In the end you didn’t _need_ me to tell you. You made the right choice on your own.”

It seemed to be what he needed to hear.  He relaxed minutely, and I forged ahead.

“Did you even consider it? Choosing the other option, I mean.”

He chuckled, a humorless ghost of a sound. “Of course I did. You said it yourself… the best option isn’t _everybody lives_. The best option is _the Inquisition wins_. The more people who live, the better. Some losses to insure the final victory.”

“Ah, fuck, I’m sorry, Bull. I _should_ have warned you, then.”

His eyes flashed again, and I concentrated on staying relaxed, accepting his censure when it came. “I worry,” I said when he didn’t immediately speak. “I worry that me telling you what you _should_ do is wrong. I worry – now more than ever – that the options I’m familiar with were manufactured, that what seemed like two equally reasonable solutions is in fact only one possible answer, but my information has been shifted… to make the story more compelling. I just found out everything I knew about Kirkwall was wrong, that my opinions on the people involved were skewed. It makes me worry that if I suggest you have the choice between life and death, it _creates_ the choice. Maybe I tell you to choose to save the Chargers… do you then start to wonder what the other option is? Do I _create_ the other option with my suggestion?”

“So saying nothing is better?”

“Saying nothing is safer. And thus far, it has paid dividends. I maintain that if I told Hellen she was going into the Fade, she would have looked for the opportunity, and maybe missed it when it came by.”

He propped his elbow on his knee and buried his face in his hand, rubbing roughly along the ridge of his brow. “Yeah, I agree with you on that one. And the way she escaped Haven… if he’d seen her looking, Corypheus would have known where to find her while she was comatose.”

“Did Hellen go with you?”

He nodded.

“She went back to Skyhold?”

He nodded again – and then froze. His head slowly turned to stare at me as if just then realizing what was out of place. “What the fuck are you doing out here?”

“Doing Solas a monumental favor, completely against his will.”

“How did you get here?”

“That story is going to require a large amount of alcohol and a healthy suspension of disbelief.”

“I can manage both,” he said, and gestured to the dispatches Lace was yet hovering over. “I need to write the Boss, tell her the demon seems to have disappeared.”

“Tell her you’ve got eyes on me,” I advised. “I think she’ll already know about the demon, once she gets back to Skyhold. I’ve got the story on Pride for you. Hellen needs to know I’m fine and that you’re going to bring me home.”

“Letter here from Curly,” Bull said as he reached for the applicable paper. “I can recognize the angry handwriting from five paces away.”

“Yeah, he’s not happy with me,” I confessed.

Bull perused the missive before grunting. “Scratch that. Not angry. Scared out of his damn gourd. You’re under his skin, little spy.”

Something about the diminutive made everything better. “I’m glad you’re here, Bull.”

“You know, I am too, Perky. I am, too.”


	39. Pt II Ch 11: Comings and Goings Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone gets to where they're supposed to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sings* I'll be home for Christmas...
> 
> There's a second part to this series now! I posted The Christmas Special, as promised. Just in case you needed more Gwen in your life this holiday.
> 
> Also, extra special thank you to everyone who has made this the most well-received fic I've posted. I have gotten so much love and encouragement and hilarity out my comments section, and I Love all of you for it. Even if you've hit the 'kudos' button as a guest... THANK YOU. Just knowing you're there makes this so much more worthwhile.

My story to Bull was, by necessity, guarded. I didn’t know how the Chargers would react to Wisdom in general, and I knew Bull’s feelings about demons in particular. When I spun my tale, I left her completely out.

The bit about finding Solas in the Fade and Fade-Stepping to the Plains I recreated faithfully. The destruction of the demon I only embellished slightly; Solas’ friend, Wisdom, had been corrupted into Pride, and I was able to sever the tie between the two and let Solas destroy it. And then, when I’d stupidly exhausted myself, Anders swooping in to the rescue was told as well as I could manage: I’d been ninety-nine percent comatose at the time, after all.

Anders was introduced to the Chargers, then, and received a surprisingly solid welcome. Apparently, rescuing me from death’s door got him a pass with the mercenary band. Once word got around that I was there, I was passed around like a prize. I didn’t have to help heal anyone – not with _Anders_ there – and they made me promise I wouldn’t cook. So instead I got handed from Charger to Charger, giving hugs and receiving stories of everything they’d seen since the last time we spoke. Which, given my tendency to drink with the ‘Rest, had only been a week or so. I mainly heard every possible retelling of the destruction of the Dreadnaught, and the pitched battle with the Venatori.

If Bull had any qualms with my story, he didn’t voice them. He neglected to lecture me for escaping Skyhold, too. “I’m sure the dressing down you get from the Boss is going to be second only to the quiet disapproval you’ve got coming from the Commander.”

Krem, too, completely neglected to chew my ass. He stared at me for several long minutes as if he  _wanted_ to, but the lecture never came. "I didn't even know you'd left," he said when I returned his glare with a grunted inquiry. "I probably shouldn't say this, but I'm actually rather looking forward to taking you home. A couple days on the road might be fun."

I had promised Solas I wouldn’t spend the night warding Cullen’s dreams, but I also took a page out of his book and neglected to promise I wouldn’t go looking for the Commander at all. He was asleep on my couch again, in the small hours after midnight, flickering in and out of the Fade as his resting mind brushed against the Veil. I gently rolled him so he was facing me, and smiled into his eyes when they drowsily opened.

“I usually get up now,” he told me, and I remembered the conversation we’d had that night, when we were together on my couch in reality.

“Sleep some more,” I told him gently. “Bull has me, and I’m coming home soon.”

He frowned, befuddled. “Bull has you?”

I nodded. “We’ll leave in the morning. I’ll be safe, I promise.”

He became solid for a moment, as his connection with the Fade solidified. “Gwen?” he asked, clearly shocked. And then he vanished. I put myself back in my own body and determined to sleep the rest of the night.

It was easier, knowing I had shocked Cullen awake. I didn’t know enough to be sure, but my suspicion was that he had thought his dreams were just that – dreams. He didn’t realize I was actually present until now; the surprise startled him right out of the dream. If he went back to sleep at all, I would be shocked.

Solas had ridden the hart he preferred when he had come to the Dales. Anders was given a horse from the Inquisition stock,  as they always took extras when they established a base camp in case they needed to evacuate in a hurry. I, however, was not even given the option.

“You don’t get to show an unprotected back,” Bull informed me solemnly as he lifted me into the air. Wisdom seemed to hover beside me, never out of arm’s reach. He settled me onto Krem’s horse, my back to the Lieutenant’s breastplate. Krem had his shield strapped to his left arm, and he reached around me to hold the reins with that hand. The only part of me that was visible was a bit of my legs and my right side; given Krem always rode on the left side of the column, there was always a Charger _or four_ covering my exposed side. None of them seemed to notice Wisdom’s form at my right foot, keeping pace effortlessly.

I was surprisingly comfortable once we got moving, and Krem and I had a chance to chat for nearly two solid days.

He did most of the talking, at first. I had a million questions, and he answered them all.

Why does Grim hold his axe differently than everyone else? Why does Dalish always stay on Twitch’s right? How do you know which way to turn at this crossroads? Do you know what kinds of trees these are?

It must have been like babysitting a two year old, but Krem’s patience seemed endless. Every answer was delivered with a grin.

The second day, when most of my curiosity was exhausted, Twitch rode up and asked about the music from my world. “We heard about you, up in the Inquisitor’s tower. People said it was like music, but nothing they had any way to describe. What is it about?”

I loved music – lived for it, really – and was more than happy to wax poetic about my favorites. The years of piano lessons and the keyboard I’d kept at home just to stay in practice bubbling to the surface of the memories I suddenly couldn’t wait to share.

The conversation finally came to a head when Twitch asked me to sing them something to help the trip go by faster. We were well into the mountains by this point, and hoped to make Skyhold within an hour of dusk. We were dismounting once an hour to walk the horses, to keep them rested on the difficult terrain.

I had to think awhile before I could come up with something suitable, but eventually I decided to teach them Hozier’s “Work Song.” With Twitch, Dalish, and a ‘Marcher who asked to be called Siren humming the background, and Grim keeping the rhythm with his axe haft against his vambrace, I sang each stanza twice. The first was in the original English, and then second in a halting sort of Common, trying to keep the syllables and meaning the same and abandoning the hope of rhymes.

I’d barely finished when Twitch demanded another song.

It was two hours before I was able to beg a reprieve, having worked my way through everything I thought I could do justice to on horseback with no accompanying instruments. Dalish wanted me to go back through and start teaching them lyrics so they could sing with me, or sing with _out_ me on their next deployment.

“Tomorrow,” I promised with a laugh. “I’ll come to the ‘Rest and we’ll get Maryden to play backup. I’ll bring my cell and play you more music and save my throat.”

Krem snorted. “As if we’ll get a chance to see you once the Inquisitor gets her paws on you.”

“She can’t keep me in the war room forever,” I laughed. “I come to the tavern in the evenings more often than not, Kremmie, I love you guys. I take the job of Charger Mom very seriously. The least I can do is teach you some lullabies.”

Krem laughed, which had been my goal, but sobered quickly. “I meant, we won’t see you again, once the Inquisitor _kills you_ for flying out of Skyhold.”

I could only grunt my agreement. “Yeah, I’m fucked.”

“Completely fucked,” he sighed.

 

*

 

It was not Hellen who met us in the courtyard when we arrived that night, nor Cullen. I got the distinct impression the Commander was watching us enter the keep from his office, but I saw neither hide nor hair of the council that ran the Inquisition. Cole, however, snatched me down from Krem’s horse and _shook me_ like an etch-a-sketch.

“You left!” he said, his voice whisper-soft and still so intense as to feel like a shout. “You _left_ and I could not follow. We protect each other, and you _left_ and I couldn’t help, couldn’t follow, couldn’t _help_.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. I repeated it three times before I thought he heard me. “Solas needed help, and I didn’t stop to think. I just _went_. I’m sorry, I know I scared you, I scared everyone, but I _had to help_.”

Cole seemed to be on the verge of tears, and his narrow shoulders shook as he fought for breath. I got him to set me down, and I pulled him into a hug. “It’s okay to be mad. Be mad. I deserve it. I scared you and I hurt you and it was wrong of me. I’m sorry, Cole. I’m sorry, darling, I’m so sorry.”

He pressed his face into my shoulder and clung to me, and I wondered if he was pulling from the Fade like Wisdom had.

“Wisdom?” he asked, pulling back and looking around.

“Not here,” I said softly, and he nodded.

“Home?”

“Yes, let’s go home. I need a bath and my own bed. But first I need to get Anders settled.”

“ANDERS!” a booming voice echoed from the stairwell to the second level of the courtyard, and I flinched. “Anders, you sneaky son of a bitch!” Garrett Hawke was bounding down the stairs and Anders only just barely got off his horse fast enough to get his feet under him before the bigger man swept him into the air and then crushed him against his chest in the most brutal hug I had ever witnessed. “I thought that was you! I knew _somebody_ was coming but Merrill wouldn’t say… come on, you have to see Varric.”

The blond spirit healer gave me a lopsided grin and a half-hearted wave before practically _sprinting_ out of the courtyard with Hawke like they were two boys just out of school. I heard Varric’s happy call of “Blondie!” just as they disappeared from my field of view, and I knew Anders was no longer my responsibility. I let Cole lead me back to the tower we called home.

When the door shut, I pulled him and Wisdom to sit on either side of me on one couch.

“Cole, this is Wisdom. Wisdom, this is Cole.”

There has never been a _third wheel_ like I was in that moment. I’m not sure how they were conversing, but I had no place in it. I eventually stood up, the silence grown too uncomfortable, and went upstairs to draw a bath. I came downstairs, clean, and they were both still sitting on the couch, staring at each other in fascination.

I pulled on a shift and crawled into bed.

I was asleep almost immediately. Which was convenient, because I only got a few hours in before I was woken by a weight on the side of my bed.

I had gone to sleep with Cole in the room, and upon waking – even in the pitch darkness – I knew both he and Wisdom were present, if preoccupied, and I knew no fear. No amount of preoccupation with a new spirit oddity would cause Cole to let someone into the room who meant me harm.

“I should be angry,” Cullen’s voice whispered out of the darkness. I reached for him and felt him immediately take my hand, twining my fingers through his and holding it up to his mouth. “I _was_ angry. Cole came to me, babbling in pure terror and then no one could find you. I could tell you every thought, every _fear_ , that ran through my head, but… why bother. The first thing you told Leliana to do was apologize. You know what your disappearance did. And every night after that one, I came here, laid on your couch and tried to remember what it felt like to sleep beside you. I thought it was working, thought I had conquered the fear, and then I realized it _was you_ I was dreaming of. Not my memory of you, but _you_. Tell me it wasn’t actually you.”

“It was me,” I answered, cognizant of how sleepy my voice sounded. “I couldn’t let you suffer, couldn’t sleep knowing you had worried for me. Solas wouldn’t let me come last night, and the night before I could only come for long enough to tell you that I was on my way home. I thought you’d realized it was me and woken up…”

“I did,” he breathed. “So… last night? Last night, that wasn’t you?”

I shook my head before remembering he couldn’t see it. “No. Last night was not me.”

He let out a breath, although from relief or disappointment I couldn’t tell.

“Solas doesn’t think it’s safe for me to find you in the Fade so often,” I told him, releasing his hand and pulling away. I felt his weight lift off the mattress as he stood. I could barely make out his silhouette against the muted moonlight fighting through the clouds to my window. “It’s better for me if you actually sleep nearby. Cole has the couch, you’ll have to crawl in here.”

He hesitated for so long I was afraid I’d misspoken or he somehow misunderstood.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” I said to break the silence. “I found Solas in the Fade, and as I told him no help was coming I realized _I could help_ and I didn’t think. I just leapt. It was foolhardy, and I know I hurt so many people. I just-“

“Maker, _stop talking_ ,” he breathed. “I’m not angry. I’m so bloody relieved you’re alright, I can’t find it in me to be angry.”

“If you’re not angry at me, lay down and let me go back to sleep,” I said, flipping back the covers. “We can talk about it in the morning. Or in the war room.”

There was a creak of leather as he pulled off his boots, and a moment later he was slipping into bed beside me, barefoot beneath his typical pants and shirt. I stayed on the far side of the bed until he seemed to be settled, and then snuggled against him. He wrapped his arms around me as I laid my head against his shoulder.

“I missed you,” he said as soon as we were both still.

“I’m sorry,” I answered, but it didn’t feel like the right reply. “I missed you, too,” seemed better. “I couldn’t stay away. Did you know it was me? Did you understand me trying to tell you I was returning to you?”

“I knew it was you,” Cullen replied, shifting even closer to me. “I didn’t believe it at first, but I did know it was you. I knew you were safe, knew you were coming back.”

“Coming _home_ ,” I corrected him.

All the air seemed to go out of him and he pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “Thank you,” he whispered into my hair.

“You’re welcome,” I said back. Sleep pulled me back under, and anything else he may have said was lost in the Veil.

 

*

 

I expected to wake up beside Cullen.

Instead I was disappointed, and confused.

There was a folded note on the pillow where he’d slept. There were almost no vestiges of heat left in the rumpled sheets that marked where he’d been. I was definitely not alone, however; Wisdom was pressed against my back, her face in the crook of my neck while Cole was curled up against my abdomen. They were both _above_ the blankets, thank god, and only their closed eyes and stillness indicated they were asleep; they made no sounds at all, not even seeming to breathe.

They both were awake instantly as I tried to slip out of bed, and they dogged my heels all morning as I dressed and prepared to go to the war room. I flipped open the note as a last act before leaving the room.

_Thank you for coming home to me._

One sentence – that was all it said. No signature – not that it needed one. There was a lightness to my step that was perhaps inappropriate given the ass-chewing I knew awaited me in the war room, but I skipped along to my fate regardless. Cole disappeared somewhere en route, but Wisdom went with me, hand still clasped firmly in mine.

I was sure the meeting was already convened. Josie was not in her office, so I strode right up to the huge doors and knocked.

It took so long for Cassandra to open the door that I was starting to wonder if they were within. The sound proofing on the room made it impossible to know for sure that anyone was even inside, much less what they were talking about.

That they were fighting was obvious when Cassandra finally admitted me; all five faces that greeted me were undeniably sour. That they were arguing about _me_ was likely, given I had only come back the night before and had _not_ been summoned to the council. The bigger question was: who was on which side?

Hellen answered for herself immediately. “Where the fuck did you go? Did you forget you’ve got a _contract_ out on your life with the Antivan fucking Crows? Have you lost your damn mind?”

I took a deep breath. “Do you want the full story or the short version?”

“Full story,” Leliana immediately insisted, shooting Hellen a _shush_ ing look. “And we’ll all stay quiet for the retelling.”

With Wisdom still hard at my shoulder – and completely unnoticed by the council – I launched into a complete recitation of everything that had happened since I was last in the war room… in regards to Solas, at least. My conversation with Cullen and our subsequent night on the couch was easily sidestepped.

When I got to the part of the story that I pulled Wisdom out of Pride, I tugged the spirit in question forward. Josephine took four steps backward out of shock, and Cullen stepped in front of her instinctively. Leliana dropped into a crouch, and Cassandra grabbed at the pommel of her sword. Only Hellen seemed unaffected by the spirit’s seeming appearance out of thin air.

“Just like Cole,” she said, nodding thoughtfully. “Keep going.”

Hellen’s calm seemed to spread, although I could tell by Cullen’s expression I wasn’t out of the clear with _him_ , at least. I did as she asked, and worked through the rest of my tale, ending with my arrival in Inquisition camp with Anders and Solas.

Hellen had found a chair – a simple wooden uncomfortable looking thing – and was leaned back, watching me over tented fingers. I had, perhaps unconsciously, moved so I was facing her, giving my report with my hands clasped behind my back, Wisdom’s entangled within.

“And you brought Wisdom back with you so I could find a way to return her to the Fade.”

I started to answer and then was struck with an epiphany. The revelation brought about by her statement made me weak at the knees. “Originally, yes.”

One of the Inquisitor’s eyebrows went up. “And now?”

“And now…” I glanced over my shoulder at the spirit, who cocked her head to the side as she met my eyes. I could almost imagine she had features, from this close; nose and eyes and mouth instead of just the _suggestion_ of humanity in her wispy outline. “And now, I think you might have need of her.”

I could _feel_ the surprise roll off the spirit. “Sorry to spring that on you,” I murmured.

“I should have suspected…” she replied, her voice a memory of a breeze through the Dales.

“Suspected what?” Hellen asked.

I turned back to look at the Inquisitor. “I brought Anders back with me,” I told her by way of an explanation. “He has agreed to teach you, to help you reach your potential as a spirit healer. And I think… I think you might need Wisdom’s help.”

Hellen’s expression went speculative, and I turned to face the rest of the council. “I am sure I scared the life out of many people when I disappeared, Cole not the least among you. I did something I did not know I _could_ do. I cannot promise I will not do something else startling and unexpected, because I do not yet know everything that is possible. What I _can_ promise is that every action I take will be a step towards our shared goals.”

I swallowed and confessed to something they all already knew. “I have no life outside these walls, unless it is beside you. Hellen is a sister in every way but blood. Leliana, I respect you more than I will ever be able to verbalize; if I ever have a quarter of your poise or your brilliance I will be blessed. Josephine, you are a,” I had to switch into English, “god damn _saint_ ,” before continuing in Common, “which is to say you possess Andraste’s own grace and have the single greatest heart of any person I have ever met. Cassandra, you are everything I thought I wanted to be when I was younger: brave, strong, _capable_. You are the very pinnacle of awesome, and every good quality I am _not_. Cullen,” I trailed off and met his eyes. He looked worried, I thought, but after a moment his expression softened as he waited for me to gather up my words.

“Cullen, you are the reason I can believe everything else in my life was necessary, why I can accept every tragedy and heartache as blessings in disguise. Andraste told me I could find purpose here, that she would leave me someplace that I would be embraced… and I cannot but think she was speaking of you.”

As he blushed, I turned back to Hellen. “My entire world is inside these walls. Everyone I love, everything I _know_. I don’t have family in Nevarra or Antiva or the Free Marches or wandering the wild world. I don’t even have _friends_ outside these walls, unless they’re one of my former patients you’ve deployed. I will _always_ come back.”

Hellen stood and drew me into a hug. “I know, Gwen. I know.”

“I love you, Hellen,” I told her as I wrapped my arms around her neck and she lifted me off my feet.

“I love you too, idiot,” she answered fondly.

“Forgive me for running away?”

She sighed and set me back on my feet. “I would probably forgive you anything. So, yes. You’re forgiven.”

She turned back to the war table and leaned over it wearily. “Cole’s amulet didn’t work. I would tell you about Bull and the failed alliance with the Qun, but since you more or less told me that was bullshit – and you rode home with the Chargers – I won’t waste my breath. However…” she slowly drew in a breath and then sighed out of frustration. “However, during our trip through the Deep Roads with Varric and _Bianca fucking Davri_ we noticed far more earthquakes than any of us expected to encounter. Not to mention the _literal_ open door to Bartrand’s Folly that she had the key for.”

“Understand why I punched her square in her adorable little button nose?”

Cullen snorted a laugh as Hellen nodded grimly. “I only wish I could have seen it. Watching her take a couple of hard hits in the Deep Roads was almost as satisfying. But tell me about the earthquakes.”

“They're serious,” I answered. “Send to Orzammar. I don’t know if they’ve sent their team yet, but you’ll want to work with them. They’ll send for you eventually. You’re going to want to go.”

Hellen sighed again. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“How long before Halamshiral?” I asked, stepping forward to the table and changing the subject.

“Five weeks,” Josephine answered. “More or less.”

“Gwen, you’re stepping in to help Leliana and Josephine plan. Once Vivienne returns, your mission is to return her to the fold. She will be an enormous pain in the ass: taxing, humbling, and aggravating; bringing her back around to our cause will be accomplished with fashion and party planning. Consider this your punishment for scaring three years off everyone’s life.”

“Yes, ser,” I answered, humbled.

Hellen lifted a golden cube off the map – it was sitting on the northern end of the Dales – and deposited it back onto Skyhold. Intrigued, I leaned over for a closer look. The all-seeing eye of the Inquisition was stamped on all sides I could see. “You had a token made for me?” I asked, honored.

“It seemed appropriate,” Cullen answered, with the air of a confession.

I felt the side of my mouth twitch into a lopsided smile, though I fought to suppress it. “ _You_ had a token made for me?”

Cullen cleared his throat and roughly rubbed the back of his neck. I took it for a _yes_.

Hellen was pointedly ignoring us. Her own token was lifted and deposited in the Dales, where mine had just been lifted from. “Lace already has a base camp established,” she asked Leliana, although it was formed as a statement.

Leliana nodded.

“Anything you can do to stop the fighting ahead of the peace talks in Halamshiral will help our cause,” Josephine told her, for probably the fifth time.

“Cassandra, will you come with me on this one? Thom is good, but he isn’t you.”

Cassandra nodded, only her eyes showing the gratification she undoubtedly felt. “It would be an honor and a privilege.”

Hellen nodded. “Cullen, I expect you are already well on your way to having Skyhold prepared for our absence, and a plan ready for our journey there and back.”

“I will have everything in place well before the time comes to leave, Inquisitor.”

Hellen nodded again. “Josie, it will be up to you to teach these mules to dance. I’m sure I don’t have to ask you to have everything else well in hand for the Ball.”

The Ambassador smiled warmly at the Inquisitor. “Of course, Hellen. I will have us fit to be seen at the very least.”

Hellen nodded again. “Anything else?”

We all shook our heads.

“Very well. I’ll leave for the Plains in the morning. Gwen, I would ask you to dinner, but you’re an asshole.”

I couldn’t help it; I laughed and leaned against the table. “That’s fair. At least let me introduce you to Anders before you go?”

Hellen nodded, again. “Let’s do that now.”

The meeting broke up, and Wisdom walked between and slightly behind Hellen and I down the hall. “Plans with Josie tonight?”

“You shut your fucking mouth,” Hellen answered in English, and I burst out laughing again.

“I wouldn’t dream of ruining this for you,” I reassured her in the same language. “Relax.”

“There are ears _everywhere_ ,” Hellen hissed.

I found myself squinting at her. “Since when are you this paranoid?”

She shivered. “Since I woke up one morning to be told there was a _pile of dead assassins_ at the base of our walls. How do you keep forgetting that?”

It was a valid point. “I don’t know. I just… can’t be scared with all of you watching out for me. Maybe it’s because by the time we found out about it, Cole had already killed thirteen of them, and I know there is no Crow alive who is a match for Cole. They don’t know how to keep themselves safe from him, so they’ll always be easy for him to pick out and pick off. And now that Cullen knows about them, I’m never alone. Even if I want to be. Which, admittedly, I don’t.”

Hellen glanced at me shrewdly. “Since we’re using Qunlat in the halls…”

“Yes?”

“Did you sleep with Cullen?”

I snorted a laugh. “In the literal sense, yes. I talked him into sleeping on my couch, with me beside him so he would get caught up in my aura and feel like he was safe when he was asleep.”

“And you found him in the Fade while you were in the Plains?”

“I did, as much as Solas would let me.”

“Would you…” she paused, hesitant. “Would you try to find me? We talked about it once, but-“

”I would love to come find you,” I insisted. “Where do you want to meet?”

Hellen laughed. “What do you mean, where?”

“Do you want me to try to find you tonight? Or find you when you’re on the road?”

“Does it make a difference?”

I nodded. “Its easier for me, if I know where to start looking.”

Hellen shook with an odd sort of laugh, disbelieving and accommodating at the same time. “Alright. It doesn’t really _work_ that way, but let’s say you come looking for me tomorrow night, when I’m on the road.”

“Don’t want to run the risk I’ll wander into something obscene tonight?”

“What did I say about that fucking mouth?”

I laughed the rest of the way to the room over the garden that had been assigned to Garrett Hawke and his slowly-growing company. He and Anders were sitting on the railing overlooking the greenery below, feet swinging idly. Merrill was no where to be seen.

“Anders!” I called, and the apostate swung over the railing to sweep me into a hug. “Gwen!” he answered happily.

“Anders, I want you to meet Hellen. Hellen, this is Anders.”

“I’ve heard much about you,” Hellen said politely, extending a hand. “You figure largely in the stories I was subjected to on the road with Hawke and Varric.”

Anders laughed happily as he shook hands with the Inquisitor. “I can only imagine. Gwennie here says you have been studying healing?”

“From her,” Hellen confirmed. “She has been my tutor in anatomy and physiology, and given me a great deal of hands-on learning. The magical theory has all come from texts.”

“Come, let’s sit and you can tell me which ones.”

Wisdom slipped free of my hand. I felt alone, as I had not in days. “Wait!”

She shook her head. “I am well enough. I will not thrive without you, but Hellen’s hand can sustain me adequately.”

“Hug me goodbye?” I asked.

“It is not yet decided,” she argued, but stepped back and slipped her arms around me anyways.

“Thank you, Mother,” she whispered, and then she was utterly gone.

“Was that Wisdom?” Hawke asked, strolling over to lean on the railing nearest me.

“You could see her?”

He shook his head slightly. “No, but I couldn’t look directly at you for a moment there, even though I was trying to. I figure that was the spirit blurring my perception.”

“Huh,” I said, pivoting to mimic his pose against the railing, realizing Merrill was visible in the garden far below, doing something nature-ish with a tree that made Hawke’s face almost peaceful as he watched her. “You’re pretty clever, you know?”

“It’s possible, I suppose,” he quipped, smirking before letting himself be distracted by the cavorting elf he was obviously in love with.

“Tell Anders to come find me if he wants,” I said, and pushed off the railing.

“Wait,” Hawke said, pulling his eyes from Merrill to wave me back. “Wait, we never really got a chance to talk, did we? Not since the day I got here and you… saw my death, I suppose. That sounds grim as the Void, doesn’t it?”

I nodded. “I saw the _choice_ ,” I clarified gently. “I saw the choice Hellen would have to make.”

“And then you bolted and told Solas about it,” he prompted, and I nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he enunciated carefully.

I found myself leaning towards him. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“No, I heard you,” I laughed, disbelieving. “I just… don’t understand. Sorry for _what_?”

Hawke shrugged. “Doubting you. Suspecting that the things that made you different were more than that – that your connection to the Fade was sinister. Anders has explained it, since he got here. Told me what you did for Wisdom. I should know better, by now. He told me you’d known I was a blood mage all along…  you never treated me any differently, even given what you apparently _thought_ of blood magic. Just… everything. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot.”

I was staring. I was acutely _aware_ I was staring, but there didn’t seem to be anything I could do to stop it.

Hawke started laughing. “Did I grow a second head?”

It was enough to shake me loose. “No. No! I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t think you’d done anything wrong. You definitely don’t need to apologize.”

Hawke snorted. “I was convinced you were crazy.”

“I thought so, too,” I said solemnly, letting my gaze drift back to Merrill in the garden.

We were quiet for a long time, then; merely comfortable in each other’s company. Hawke eventually broke the silence.

“Varric is pretty fucking pissed, by the way.”

I couldn’t stifle the laugh. “Yeah. I bet.”

“I hear Bianca was demanding an apology.”

Something in his voice made me glance over at him. He was grinning. “Never accept an apology from somebody who just sucker punched you,” I quoted softly.

Hawke shook with a silent laugh. “Good rule.”

I nodded. “You don’t seem particularly upset with me about what happened with Bianca number one.”

“Oh?” Hawke responded. “The dwarf who is responsible for _five_ attempted assassinations of Varric? The dwarf who I’ve never met, or even _heard about_ , much less be introduced to, who is apparently the love of my best friend’s life? The dwarf who sold out Bartrand’s Folly? _Please_ tell me what she has to recommend her.”

“Not a Bianca fan?” I asked, spinning slightly to face him, my left elbow propped on the railing.

Hawke lifted an elbow. “How much money would I have to give you to punch her again? With me _there_ this time?”

“You set it up, I’ll knock her down,” I told him.

He put his head back to laugh, but we were both sent flying from a sudden burst of energy. Hawke managed to get his arms around me and kept me from tumbling over the railing, landing on his back on the flagstones with me sprawled across his abdomen.

“The fuck?” I pushed up quickly, Hawke helping me to my feet and then taking my hand and pulling me along behind him. I couldn’t help but notice the ball of energy forming in his other hand.

When we got to his room, he pressed us against the wall outside the door and peeked quickly in and then straightened against the wall again. He seemed to think for a moment, and then peeked again. This time, he pulled me off the wall and through the door.

Hellen was standing in the middle of the room, head tipped slightly up and arms dangling at her sides. Absolutely nothing was out of place, although the air was full of a trillion dust motes. Anders was sitting just inside the door, watching her wearily. There was an odd sort of sadness to his features.

“What happened?” Hawke asked. Hellen was breathing heavily, her eyes closed, but otherwise nothing seemed amiss.

“A spirit healer was born,” Anders answered.

“Where is Wisdom?” I asked, suddenly concerned.

Anders nodded towards Hellen. “They’ve reached an agreement.”

Hawke flinched. “What kind of agreement?”

“It is very similar to Wynne’s,” Anders said quickly, seeming eager to reassure Hawke. “I wouldn’t let her make the sort of deal I did, and it wasn’t to Wisdom’s tastes, besides. Wisdom felt that she owed her life to Gwen – and, by extension, to Hellen – and so she taught Hellen how to use her anchor to tear a rift just small enough to draw her back into the Fade, but only after she’d latched onto Hellen’s aura.”

“So she went through like a trebuchet,” Hawke summarized, “using the velocity of her reentry to the Fade to attach herself to Hellen.”

Anders nodded. “In so many words.”

“Is she okay?” I asked, indicating the Inquisitor.

Hawke shuddered. “Okay is not the word. There’s never been a Qunari spirit healer. They would be instantly killed by the Qun. A connection to a spirit is a source of power otherwise unheard of.”

Anders cleared his throat and looked pointedly at me.

Hawke gave me an appraising look. “Well. Aside from what you can apparently do with the Fade.”

I shrugged, and nodded back at Hellen. “I’m not the point here. Is she okay?”

Anders nodded. “It will take awhile for her to be sensible again. She’s rearranging her world view. Wynne had to _die_ to fully accept her spirit. Solona bonded with Valor on the night before the battle of Denerim; she said she was still so hyped the next day she barely remembers the battle. Hellen will be fine… if a bit overpowered for a couple days.”

“So she’s going to go level the Exalted Plains?”

Hawke snorted. “As if Wisdom would let her. She got a massive infusion of power, but that’s the catch – she can’t use it for anything Wisdom doesn’t approve of.” He poked Anders. “Why didn’t you partner up with a spirit of Wisdom, eh? You could use it.”

“Bugger off,” Anders said without malice. “Don’t make Justice angry with you again.”

The renegade mage’s eyes went suddenly lyrium-blue. “I’ve never been angry with you, Hawke,” he said with Anders’ voice.

Hawke slung his arm around me as we both laughed.

“That is suddenly less funny,” Hellen said, and we both spun to face her.

“That was quick,” Anders said, looking at Hellen with astonishment as she rubbed her eyes.

“Not my first waltz with the Fade,” she answered, shaking her head. “I expected her to be more… _prominent_. I don’t know. Like Justice, maybe.”

Anders shook his head. “You’ll only openly speak with her in your dreams, in the Fade. Eventually you’ll learn to communicate with her, but you aren’t sharing your body like Justice and I am. You’re not an _abomination_ , not in the classical sense of the word.”

“We’re keeping this quiet, I suppose,” I said softly.

All three of them nodded.

“So Wisdom is back in the Fade,” Anders stated carefully.

Hellen’s eyes narrowed, and she looked at me.

“What?”

“You used that _exact_ same emphasis once, when you were telling us something. In the war room. I’m trying to remember it.”

I put a hand to her wrist and started shaking my head, but her memory was good – far better than I’d given her credit for – and she spoke the phrase before I could dissuade her.

“Riordan killed the arch demon,” she said, and Anders’ eyes flew wide.

I pointedly pressed my lips together. “I keep all secrets, Hellen.”

She nodded. “I just didn’t realize that was a secret until now.”

Anders was staring at me, and I could see the wheels turning. I didn’t think he knew, and I shook my head, _no_.

The former Warden twisted his mouth and nodded bleak acceptance. He turned his attention back to Hellen. “You need rest. Actual sleep. You need not avoid the Fade ever again, either – Wisdom will keep you safe, and help you get the rest you need.”

Hellen nodded, and walked out of the room with her usual purposeful stride. Only a close look at her face would indicate her thoughts were miles away.

“Should you go with her to the Plains?” Hawke asked his friend.

Anders shrugged. “There isn’t anything I can tell her now that Wisdom can’t. Eager to get rid of me?”

Hawke’s face split into a boyish grin. “Not on your life.”

They seemed to remember I was there, thankfully, and Anders was quick to echo Hawke’s sentiments about Bianca Davri. “Just don’t talk to Merrill about it. She’s much more the _love conquers all_ sort of person. She’s convinced they’ll get together eventually.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sure. Good luck with that."


	40. Pt II Ch 12: The Lion and the Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mourning with Vivienne, brutal honesty with Cullen, and a come-to-Jesus with Solas.

Vivienne returned that afternoon.

I met her at the gates, stood silently by as she directed her things to be unpacked and brought up. She reached blindly for me as she walked towards the keep and I quickly took her hand, let myself be drawn up beside her; we walked arm-and-arm up to her loft. I had tea sent up. I poured her a cup – exactly as she liked it – and sat with her on the balcony as she watched the porters work. She confirmed, eventually, that Bastien had passed and his funeral had been held. His wife had sent what few things Vivienne had requested on to Vivienne’s own home, rather than her try to bring them to Skyhold. She had removed her personal affects from the home and they made up the extra baggage she had brought with her. She needed to sort through them, as some of the clothing she hadn’t seen in quite some time and it was horribly unfashionably now. The word she kept using was _time_.

“Tomorrow,” I told her as I took her cup. “We will meet with Josephine and resume the planning for Halamshiral. I am useless in the endeavor, and will need you to direct my work.”

“Of course, my dear,” she murmured. “Tomorrow.”

I heard the dismissal – and gratitude – in her tone. I tidied up, returned the tray to the kitchen, and fled to my rooms.

I avoided everyone else for the rest of the day. I sent Cole with a message for Cullen, and it brought the Commander to my room with alacrity shortly after sunset.

“Cole said you were hurt,” Cullen said as I let him in and shut the door behind him. I was wearing a pair of the plaidweave pajamas Hellen had given me, with a thick terrycloth robe wrapped around and sheepskin scuffs keeping my feet warm. He was, blessedly, out of his armor.

“That’s not what I told him to say,” I sighed. “I’m sorry to worry you. I just…”

“Bad day?” Cullen guessed, carefully stepped closer to me and then drawing me against his chest for a hug.

I nodded into his shoulder, my arms crossed over my stomach as I leaned into him.

“Anything you can talk about?”

After a moment’s pause I shook my head. “Nothing you want to hear, no.”

“You’d be surprised.”

I scoffed. “Vivienne’s lover is dead, and we had a bonding moment over widowhood.”

To his credit, he didn’t flinch. “And I wouldn’t want to hear that, why?”

I pulled away and blinked wearily at him. “You don’t want to hear me talk about Patrick.”

He smiled lightly and drew me over to the couch. “He is not my competition.”

It was probably the nicest way he could say it: as a corpse in another world, Patrick was removed from the race for my affections. His wedding band was now the symbol of the Inquisition across my collarbones, and I was sitting on the couch with _Cullen_ , having slept in his arms the night before. No, Cullen was not competing with Patrick… not on the surface, at least.

“I worry,” I told him, sitting sideways so I could face him. “I don’t ever want you to feel like his ghost is coming between us.”

“What, like he was for the last six months?”

I scrunched up my face. “Thanks.”

Cullen laughed. “It’s true. Maker’s breath, Gwen, you’re his _widow_. Regardless of what else happens to you in your lifetime, he will be always have been your husband. You will do what you have to, in order to honor his memory. I cannot begrudge you that. You have never compared us; you have barely spoken of him in my presence but to remind me of his existence. I cannot ask you for any more than that.”

I sighed deeply, and simply _looked_ at him for awhile. He seemed content to be watched, propping his head against his fist and leaning his elbow against the back of the couch.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your work so much,” I told him at long last.

“Amazing thing, sleep,” he answered lightly. “Now that I’m getting it, everything else is getting done faster. I didn’t come here until I was actually done for the night. I might even be a little ahead.”

“Really?” I asked, feeling the first hints of a smile.

“Really,” he answered.

“I’ve never seen you so relaxed,” I noted, not really realizing how true it was until the statement was made.

He smiled – that lopsided grin that was so _damn_ endearing – and reached out his hand to me. I quickly took it. “You’ve never seen me without a headache, well rested, and caught up on my work. This will not likely be true in the coming weeks, as we get nearer to the trip to the Winter Palace, but for now… my attention is yours, if you want it.”

“We need to talk,” I sighed. “And now is probably the best time for it.”

“Oh?”

“It’s premature, I know, but the sooner the better, so you can bow out if you need to…”

“That’s… not promising.”

“I can’t have your children,” I stated flatly, feeling strangely empty once the words we said.

Cullen’s eyebrows lifted. “No. No, you can’t. Nobody can.”

It wasn’t the reaction I expected, and I squinted at him. “I wasn’t really considering anyone _else_. I was talking about me, specifically. I can’t have children.”

His eyes widened. “And you think I… You think you need to tell me so I… so that I could decide whether or not I still wanted you?”

God, that was a hell of a way to say it. I nodded.

Cullen shook his head. “You know everything about me. Why is it you don’t know _this_?”

“What are you talking about?’

“Lyrium,” he answered, patiently. “Templars take it to strengthen their skills against mages… but Cassandra can tell you, it’s not _necessary_. It’s a boost, of course, but there’s no reason to take it every day, not for that. The Chantry gives it to the Templars because it ties them to the Order, and because it… it helps prevent _accidents_ in the Circles. It makes it almost impossible for templars to get a mage pregnant – or vice versa. Something about the sheer amount the templars takes renders nearly all of them sterile.”

“So… it’s a contraceptive? Doesn’t that increase the rate of rape in the Circles, if there’s fewer consequences?”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “I won’t say it doesn’t happen. But the Chantry can track a mage across the continent with a drop of blood; all a mage would have to do is report a rape and it becomes a simple matter to determine the other party. That’s why Meredith’s rules were so heinous; she punished mages for _false reports_ without attempting to prove them one way or the other.”

I shook my head. The story I knew was so close, and yet so, so far…

“So you weren’t expecting children,” I brought the topic back around, hearing my how flat my voice was but helpless to amend it.

Cullen nodded.

I sighed, clenched my jaw, and pressed forward. “I was pregnant. Once. Years ago. I got… hurt… and I… I lost the baby. And, with it, the ability to have more.”

Cullen leaned forward grasped my shoulders, and dragged me across the couch to crush me against his chest.

It was so unexpected – and so _fucking_ sweet – that I immediately started to cry. “No! No!” I sniffed, weakly laughing. “No, don’t make me cry.”

“By all means, cry,” Cullen answered, tucking my head under his chin and twisting me in his lap so I was sideways with his arms around me. I rested my head on his shoulder and slowly composed myself.

“I guess I didn’t expect… Maker. Acceptance? I suppose.”

Cullen went still. “When that’s all you’ve ever shown any of us, it’s a grave disservice to not allow you the same luxury.”

“That’s different. I know everything about all of you.”

“It’s no different,” Cullen argued. “It should _not_ be different.”

I sighed. “I’m sorry to sound ungrateful. I just… don’t know how to act right now. I had this worked up in my head to be a terrible, solemn, heartbreaking conversation. And you don’t… you didn’t expect me to have your children _any_ ways.”

“I thought you knew,” he whispered.

I shook my head. “I wish I’d known. I wouldn’t have had to drum up the courage to tell you. I wanted to give you the opportunity to walk away, if… if… if this was something you wanted, something that was important to you. Before it got too hard on us both to end it.”

“I have no desire to end this,” Cullen breathed against my head. “I’m still looking forward to it actually beginning.”

It made me laugh – which I supposed was the point – and I tipped my head up to lean on the back of the couch so I could look at him. “We’re light years ahead of where we were last week,” I chided.

“What is a light year?” he returned.

“The distance light can travel in a year,” I answered easily. “Something like six… oh, wow, you don’t have that number.”

“What number?”

“Hundred, thousand, million…” I counted. “And then another, and _then_ the one I want.”

Cullen blinked. “Why would you need a number that large?”

“To talk about things like the distance light travels in a year, and how far apart the stars are.”

It was Cullen’s turn to laugh. “You have this great ability to turn any conversation towards the stars.”

“I like stars,” I complained.

“I noticed,” he said.

We were quiet for a long time, then. I tucked my head back against his shoulder and we sat on the couch, holding each other, until Cullen noticed I was drowsing off. He lifted me up easily and carried me to bed, depositing me in the middle and then sliding in beside me.

“Is it bad I’m already used to this?” I asked, rolling over to curl around him.

“Not remotely,” Cullen replied. I thought he’d said something more, but the Fade had already come to claim me.

 

*

 

I would like to be able to say I accomplished something meaningful in the weeks between my Fade Step to the Exalted Plains and the trip to Halamshiral.

I would be a damn liar.

Aside from my ongoing duties to Vivienne and the planning for Halamshiral, I was left to my own devices.

The infirmary was almost completely empty. Cullen rapidly fell into the massive workload expected of a trip through a recent war zone, and I only saw him when he knocked on my door at night to drop almost immediately unconscious. He was awake long before me in the mornings, but at least I knew he was sleeping. For once, I didn’t have any fences to mend because nobody was overly mad at me… well, nobody except Varric, but there was nothing I could do for that. Hawke was egging the dwarven author on so badly about his _never telling Hawke about Bianca_ that there really wasn’t anything I could say to butter Varric up.

I ended up spending a _lot_ of time in the Herald’s Rest.

The Chargers were there most of the time, and they were always good for a story. Of late they were more interested in _my_ stories, and I found I had more that they could relate to than I originally imagined. I brought my phone more than once, to show a photograph or play a song. Once I started with music, however, that was all anybody wanted to hear for the rest of the night, so it was done with discretion.

The Kirkwall crew, as I had taken to thinking of them, were frequently in the Rest in the evenings. Hawke had a way of antagonizing Varric that made everything either of them said, better. Anders had this incredible _joie de vivre_ that I was enamored of. And Justice’s seeming fondness for me meant the borderline abomination and I got along swimmingly.

Hellen was almost too easy to find in the Fade. I didn’t even have to look for _her_ ; I could find Wisdom without trying, and where Wisdom was, Hellen was also. The spirit even served as an identification method, as she always was with Hellen and she always recognized me. Even if Hellen was dead asleep and too tired to spend stamina in the Fade, I found Wisdom nearly every night, just to give her a quick hug and feel the reassurance that all was well.

Wisdom insisted on calling me Mother in the Fade, and also on never explaining it. Hellen confessed her own confusion on the rare incidences we spoke. “Maybe when I get some down time,” she told me wearily one night. “We’ll play in the Fade when I get back to Skyhold and I’m not running myself ragged.”

It took two solid weeks before I had a chance to corner Solas. I didn’t want to risk our conversation being interrupted, so I waited until the keep was quiet, and I knew everyone who might come looking for me was occupied and likely to stay that way.

“I’m mad at you,” I led off with.

Solas, for his part, didn’t laugh. It looked like he _wanted_ to. “I gathered.”

“I’m willing to give you a chance to explain yourself.”

“Oh?” one of his eyebrows rose to match the pitch of his voice. “And you think I will?”

“I think you made it too obvious that you wanted me to go get a look at the Shrine of Andraste, and I think you would have been more subtle about it if you didn’t want to have a follow-up conversation.”

He _did_ smile then. “I had forgotten how different life is when one is _known_ to one’s fellows. May I suggest we move our conversation elsewhere?”

“Another hike to your cave, perhaps?”

“If you could be bothered for a bit of a walk.”

“I would be honored.”

We spoke little on the hike out. I saw Krem as we were crossing the causeway from the main keep to the gatehouse, and told him I was going for a walk with Solas and my absence would not be long.

“You going to need an escort home?” he asked.

I swatted at his arm. “No.”

”Don’t make us coming looking for you.”

“I told you were I was going so I _wouldn’t_ get harassed.”

“You picked the wrong kids, then.”

I gave him a little shove and we parted, both of us laughing. I tucked my hand through Solas’ elbow and he led me out of the keep, through the encampment, and then up a game trail into a tiny pass that led into a bit of a grotto in the mountains just below the treeline. It had taken us surprisingly little time to arrive. Once we reached the game trail, there wasn’t room for us to walk abreast and he led me through by the hand.

The cave was utterly hidden, buried behind a thicket where a boulder had been shaken free of the mountain and created a twisted entryway. We wound around the boulder and then ducked under an overhang; once inside it was roomy and had ample airflow, but finding it was next to impossible.

I looked around this time – really _looked_ – and I couldn’t help but notice a thousand little details I had missed when I had been here before. There was finely etched writing on the wall, worn and dusty but likely still legible to someone who could read the language represented. I could not. In the far back of the cave, nearly hidden in darkness, was a long low ledge that I realized could have served as a bed, especially with some blankets thrown over it for softness. It would have been cold… but there were brackets for torches around it, although they stood empty now.

The most telling detail – aside from the stockpiled wood and carefully laid fire pit – was the painting on the walls themselves. Some of it was new, and some of it was _not_ , but it was all clearly done by the same hand.

“Is this where you slept?” I asked, deciding I didn’t really want to look at the older paintings. If Solas had done them around the time that he created the Veil, they were likely not happy pictures.

He didn’t answer for so long that I believed he wouldn’t. I was casting about for my next question when he very quietly told me, “Yes.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, Solas.”

His eyes snapped up at my tone. “The person I was at that point in time was not pitiable.”

“No. He was a man who had just lost someone very dear to him, and was forced to make a terrible choice.”

His eyes slid closed. “It is not so simple as that.”

“No? We can agree to disagree. I do not want to dig in your past, ha’hren. I want you to tell me why you shoved me in the direction of Andraste and then vanished. I want you to help me understand what I am, what I’m doing here. Whatever help you can give, I will take.”

“Even knowing what you know, you yet desire my help?” the self-loathing was coming off his words in waves.

“No one – _literally no one_ – knows the Veil like you do. There is no one who can help me find my place but you. I would be a fool, a heartless fool, to scoff at assistance from an ally.”

“I did not pay much mind to your memory, as Hellen or Dorian might have,” he said after a long moment of silence. “I took it as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to experience the exact way another person thought. I was you, for that time, and the ideas and decisions that whirled through your mind passed through mine as if they belonged to me. It felt _natural_ , although I knew it was not. The universal discombobulation we experienced when the memory ended was from suddenly being thrust back into our own heads, with our own patterns of thought.”

He started casting logs into the fire pit haphazardly. I sat forward and arranged them into a semblance of something that would hold a fire.

“So when I say I was not looking around your memory, I mean I was not using your eyes. I was focused on the thoughts themselves. When you began thinking of the woman in your garage – noting the shape of her eyes and her manner of her dress and the mole on her ankle – I got a clearer image of her than Hellen or Dorian would have. The actual visual recollection is weak compared to the memory of what you hear and smell and believe. I recognized your feelings _about_ her more than they could have recognized her face.”

“That makes sense,” I granted, and then leaned forward to warm my hands after he nonchalantly lit the fire we’d laid with an almost lazy gesture.

“We were discussing the possible ways they worlds of our births were connected, and I realized you did not yet know precisely how you came to be here, who had sought you out and brought you to us. Thus, I sent you to the chapel, knowing it would give you the perspective you lacked. Before we’d had an opportunity to talk again, however, I received the distressed calling of my friend in the Fade, and departed immediately for the Exalted Plains. I had passed on your warning, and so as soon as she felt the summoning she reached out for me. I… was not in time.”

“Arguably,” I countered with a smile. His returning expression was weak, but a smile nonetheless.

“You were in time. I was not. Again, you took action to save the life of a stranger, and have asked for nothing in return.”

“I am not so mercenary as to only do the right thing when there is something to be gained by it.”  
“Isn’t there?” Solas asked, dropping to sit across the fire from me. “Could you not gain much by winning my good graces?”

“We’ve already struck our bargain,” I argued. “I keep my damn mouth shut, and you don’t kill me.”

“I would not-“

“Bullshit.”

The fire between us played with the shadows, making his expression hard to read. When he did not make a reply, I forged on blindly.  
“You killed the mages who bound your friend, did you not?”

My only confirmation was a slight tipping downward of his head.

“You raised the Veil out of vengeance for the death of Mythal. Do not tell me you are incapable of killing a stranger who risks something important to you.”

“You are a stranger no longer, da’len,” he reminded me.

Something about his tone made me stop and take a slow breath.

“Nor you, ha’hren.”

“I assumed the conversation you wished to have here was about discharging the debt I had accrued, owed to you for nearly dying to save Wisdom.”

“And I owe you what, then, for you taking injury to save Hawke and Alistair?”

“I did that for my own reasons,” Solas said dismissively. “That the future was alterable was as important for me to prove as it was for you to see proven.”

“Fine then. I saved Wisdom for my own reasons.”

“Which were?”

“My friend was distressed,” I answered him flatly. “My friend asked for help, and I was in a place to give it to him. Those are my reasons.”

Solas shook his head. “People such as you do not often survive long in this world. You are used, abused, abandoned. It is a rare soul who attempts any acts of altruism.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t purely altruistic,” I mused. “I did get Anders and Wisdom out of it for Hellen. We are a step ahead in preparing her for the battles to come.”

“Wisdom has made herself visible to Hellen? That explains why she is not with you.”

“Wisdom has reached an _agreement_ with Hellen,” I corrected him gently. “She is the spirit who will assist her healing.”

Solas leaned back suddenly. “They are bonded?”

“They have reached an agreement, just this afternoon.”

“Is this… is this something you have foreseen?”

I shook my head. “Wisdom has never survived the binding into Pride before now. This is new. And I have never seen an Inquisitor become a spirit healer. I do not know what the implications may be of a qunari mage binding with a spirit on top of having the anchor on her hand.”

Solas shuddered delicately. “It is for the best, then, that her spirit guide is one of Wisdom.”

It was my turn to shudder. “Ugh, could you imagine her with Justice? Or Valor?”

Solas laughed lightly. “No, Wisdom is clearly the best choice.”

We were quiet for awhile then, mulling over each other’s words with the unsteady popping of the fire and the sound of the wind through the thicket our background music.

“I want to ask you about Andraste,” I ventured.

“I would be surprised if you did not,” he replied.

“You were asleep while she was moving about the world. How do you know her?”

“I was asleep, yes, but not in the way you think of sleep. You must work to remove yourself from within your own mind when you sleep, while I… I put myself into the Fade nearly as fully as you naturally exist there. I drew from the Fade to sustain my body, as you have learned to do, and I explored the new world on the other side of the Veil. There were times that a great many new spirits entered the Fade – times of war or sickness – and those places I was inevitably drawn to. When a thousand new memories of the same woman all crowd one thinned location on the Veil, it is impossible not to take notice.”

“So everyone who died in her war, died in her name… and took that with them as they crossed.”

He nodded. “She was the face, the name, the voice burned into the memories of every man and woman who died following her – or standing against her. It was impossible to stand in the Fade and not know her. _Andraste_ left a scar on the Veil as surely as did the Breach.”

“Is she the Bride of the Maker?” I asked, desperately unsure of whether I actually wanted to know.

“The Evanuris, though the Dalish name them Creators, did not make this world,” Solas answered. “You know as well as I that the Chantry’s version of creation is hardly factual.”

“Yeah,” I breathed. “I always assumed they were wrong about Andraste, about the Maker, because _so much_ of the Chant is just… _wrong_. But she _brought me here_. She died hundreds of years before, but she took my hand and tore a hole through reality and dropped me in Hellen’s lap. She created the games I played, somehow putting the details of this world into the heads of people from _my_ world so that she could teach us – teach me – the things I needed to know to survive here. That’s not something you could do.”

“No,” Solas agreed mildly. “It is not.”

I sighed and tipped my head back, muttering in English, “God, and I thought being Catholic was complicated.”

“You followed a religion in your own world?”

I nodded, switching back to Common. “It’s difficult. I… I always thought the Chantry was fictional, so obviously it was based on my faith. The Creator – the Maker – God, sends someone to save us, to pave the way to his side, and we in our ignorance kill our savior. Just, in my world, he sent us his son. I thought Andraste was the Christ figure of the game, thought maybe the game was making a statement about how my religion had been corrupted and twisted in the two millennia since it was founded. But then, to _meet her_ and have her work what is essentially a miracle?”

“You are experiencing a crisis of Faith?”

I sighed again, nodding my head slowly. It had to have seemed dejected, if the look on his face was any indication.

“Why are the two mutually exclusive?”

“What?”

“There is no reason you cannot believe that your god and the Thedosian Maker are the same entity, if it brings you peace. To your world he sent his son, to our world he made a mortal woman the instrument of his will. The worlds are different, but your faith need not be altered.”

I had to struggle with the concept for a minute. “I would be giving up the structure of my church, the ritual of worship and the narrative of my Faith…”

“But how the god is worshipped matters less than that it is the same,” Solas asserted. “A different world would, by necessity, have been created differently.”

“Are you saying my god and the Thedosian god _are_ the same?” I prodded.

Solas put up his hands, palms facing me, as he laughed a denial. “I have never claimed godhood, nor am I familiar with your god.”

I dropped my head into my hands. “I feel as though I have lost _everything_. I have been stripped of everything that I felt any connection to, left with nothing but my own tenuous sense of self.”

“Your sense of self must be far more established than you claim, for you to have survived so much intact.”

“That is all I have done,” I retorted. “I have merely survived.”

Solas moved around the edge of the fire to sit beside me, pausing only a moment before wrapping a long arm around my shoulder. “Gwen. You have done so much more than survived. You have _thrived_. You are molding this world as you stride through it. You are becoming something more than what you were. You have lost connections, yes, but you have made new ones almost effortlessly. I cannot but believe you were selected for this reason, you were _sent_ for this reason; a lesser woman would not have survived.”

“I was sent,” I echoed absently. “I was saved. The time to demand proof is not when you are being guided out of the woods.”

I could see Solas in my peripheral vision, tipping his head in inquiry, as if hunting for the memory.

“Hellen said that to me, in camp after you told her about Skyhold for the first time. The words were spoken in English, however. I was never completely sure if you’d heard us or not.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, remembering. “Yes, I heard you. You were not exactly quiet.”

“I told her that one should question a guide who is not trustworthy – but that you were. The woman… _Andraste_ , as it were… she put me here. The one thing I know for a fact is that she snatched me from the jaws of death and dropped me in Hellen’s lap. Hellen, who I love nearly as much as I do my own brother. If only for that, for that reason _alone_ , I could put my Faith in her.”

“You are Andrastian, now?” Solas asked, seeming incredibly amused.

I shook my head. “I am merely submitting to being led out of the woods.”

We were silent for a long time, then; companionably sitting before the fire.

“I did not think to find a peer in you, Gwen,” he said as the weak sunlight disappeared and the only light came from the fire. “To find someone who is similarly alone in the world is one thing, but to have them know and accept everything you seek to keep hidden-“

“Woah now,” I laughed. “I don’t know _everything_ you seek to keep hidden. My foresight stretches a few years and that’s it. And much of what I _know_ is supposition and inference. I know the _title_ they gave you. I know your name is – and should remain – Solas. And I know about the Veil. Everything else is from your actions, ha’hren. I have seen you save Hellen, I have seen you mourn for Wisdom’s loss… I have seen so much about your character from the things that anger you and the things that make you laugh. You and Hellen both would tear down the heavens in the name of vengeance… those are the allies I want.”

“Be that as it may,” Solas continued, “I… appreciate you, lethallan.”

“I am glad to call you Friend, Solas,” I answered.

“Come, let me lead you out of the woods,” he said, standing and offering his hand.

I laughed and took it, and he smothered the fire with a offhand gesture and pulled me out of the cave into the night.

Satina was high in the southern sky, free of the horizon but still short of her zenith. Luna was a bit to the north and west, a grape beside a basketball.

“Will you teach me, Solas?” I asked as we walked, dragging my eyes from the stars only to keep my footing down the game trail in the dark.

“I thought I had been,” he laughed.

“No, I mean… _really_ teach me. I want to know everything I can about my relationship to the Fade. I want to know my limits, so I don’t get into trouble again like I did in the Dales. I want to _be here_ , I want to accept everything this new life encompasses. If she saved me for a reason, _brought me here_ for a reason, then I want to embrace it. I don’t want to hide from life anymore, even the ugly bits.”

His grip on my tightened briefly. “I can be a brutal taskmaster, da’len.”

“I trust you,” I answered.

He paused.

“You mean that.”

“I do,” I told him. “I don’t agree with you on a lot of things. But just like I told Cole… just because I don’t think you’re right doesn’t mean I don’t trust you. I do not believe you would harm me if you could at all avoid it.”

Solas took a shaky breath and continued down the path. “You do not say you believe I would not harm you, however.”

“As I said,” I answered softly, “my foresight only stretches a few years. You said I would likely be profoundly affected by the Veil coming down… which doesn’t happen in the time I am privy to. Do I think you would sacrifice all of us to bring back the world you lost…?” I trailed off. “Would I give up all of you to get my own world back, my family restored?” I shook my head, conscious he likely would miss the motion in the darkness. “The first hours, days, weeks… it was all I prayed for. I wanted nothing more than for this dream to come to an end, and to wake up in Patrick’s bed, to be able to lift my nephew into my arms for a hug while his father and my father looked on with their identical smiles. Now? The longer I am here, the easier it gets to let go. But I was only in my world for thirty years. How long did you wander before the fall of Arlathan? How long would you have to live here before this world is anything more than a temporary nightmare?”

We emerged suddenly from the game trail then, the high rocks around us giving way to the broad valley occupied by the Inquisition, with Skyhold anchoring the far end. His hand still gripped in mine, Solas swung me gently around to his front and then wrapped me in a tight hug.

He didn’t speak, and I didn’t try to continue. After a long moment, he released me and caught up my hand again, taking us back home.


	41. Pt II Ch 13: Following Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes leave for Halamshiral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!

With four weeks to go before Halamshiral, Josephine started corralling me for dance and etiquette lessons.

The etiquette was not hard. Table manners seem universal, and learning which spoon was for which course was not very difficult. More time was spent understanding the players in the Game and who I was likely to interact with. Some of them I knew – Grand Duchess Florianne and Grand Duke Gaspard as well as Briala and Empress Celene herself – but many others were completely new to me. I tried to tell Josephine that if I didn’t know them already, they weren’t important in the grand scheme of things.

“You cannot _say that to them_ ,” she hissed. “As far as you are to be concerned, _everyone_ is important. Otherwise you might cause grievous insult. You know your presence can alter the future you desire, and _believe me_ one misstep at Halamshiral could be that alteration.”

I granted her that, and submitted to her education program.

More fun, however, was Josephine teaching me how to dance.

Leliana sprawled across an armchair, unspeakably unladylike, and picked out a tune of the appropriate tempo on her lute as Josephine walked me through the steps of countless dances that might be performed at Halamshiral.

“Why do I have to learn the steps?” I asked one afternoon. “Can’t I just follow?”

Josie and Leliana both paused to consider.

“It would make a statement if she did,” Leliana ventured.

Josie was nodding absently. “And it would be easier than trying to determine what her precise rank is.”

“So don’t focus on teaching me the steps, just lead me through them all so I’m not surprised, and I’ll just hope I dance with a strong lead.”

By the time Josie was done, I was confident with my ability to _follow_ any of the dances I encountered. I also was utterly determined to _never lead_. Maybe they would mistake my laziness for modesty. I didn’t care. Not leading would save me a world of trouble.

I was given no other information about Halamshiral. Vivienne and Josephine were taking care of everyone’s clothing. Leliana was handling the nightly plans in terms of actual information gathering. Cullen was organizing how we were getting there and how we were getting home, as well as how we would be protected while we were there and who would be involved in that. He was setting up worst-case-scenarios with supply lines and reinforcements, as well as lines of defense in case Skyhold came under attack while we were gone. Anything that could go wrong, Cullen didn’t just have a plan – he had preparations in place.

Hellen only came home from the Dales with enough time to pack, wash, and call us into the war room before we had to leave for the Ball.

“I cannot believe you cut your time so close,” Josephine was saying as we met around the table.

“What’s done is done, Josie,” Leliana shushed her.

“Speaking of… What is left to be done?” Hellen asked, leaning on the table.

A sea of unconcerned faces greeted her.

“Pack, it seems,” Cassandra concluded.

“I love you people,” Hellen sighed. “On the road in the morning?”

“Bright and early, Inquisitor,” Cullen agreed.

The Commander caught my arm as we left the war room and walked me straight back to my apartment.

“What’s wrong?” I asked as he propelled me through the door and bolted it behind us.

“This is the last night I will be absolutely sure you are safe,” he said, sounding more angry than anything. “And you’re going to spend as much of it under lock and key, _safe,_ as I can manage.”

“Cullen,” I worked to keep my voice sounding reasonable, “Cole is going with us. We’re going to be surrounded by the soldiers. Between _you_ and Cole and the Chargers? I will be _more_ safe on the road than I am here.”

He was actually scowling at me. I resisted the urge to _boop_ his nose.

“So I’m under house arrest for the evening?”

“Yes,” he answered, rather snidely.

“Alright. Are you going to pry yourself out of all that fucking metal and snuggle with me? Or am I being punished?”

Cullen froze part way through removing his gloves. “Would it be a punishment if I were to sleep elsewhere?”

He must have seen it on my face before I voiced the answer, because he crossed the room as I said, “Yes,” and had his arms around me before the echo from that single syllable had stilled. “Is that a surprise?” I asked against his shoulder.

“Not so much a _surprise_ ,” he breathed, “as something I didn’t expect to hear.”

“What? Why?”

He set me back on my feet and started stripping out of his armor. I sat on the couch near him and tucked my feet under me to keep them warm, pulling a throw around my shoulders as I watched him work. He was so _methodical_ about it… obviously it was something he did every day – or nearly every day – but to actually do it in the exact same order every time was an impressive fete of concentration.

“I cannot help but think this… arrangement… is more for my benefit than for yours.”

“Well,” I paused before confessing, “arguably it is. Your need for rest was the instigating event for our sleeping… like this.” I’d almost said _sleeping together_ and that phrase had the same connotation in Common as it did in English. “But when Cole is here, he definitely doesn’t crawl into bed and hold me. I don’t _have_ to be touching you for this to work. I don’t _have_ to sleep with your arms around me, with your heartbeat as my lullaby. All of _that_ is strictly for my benefit, as far as I’m concerned. And, yes, I would definitely feel its loss were it to stop happening.”

Cullen dropped the quilted under layer onto the back of the couch he’d put his armor on and then dropped onto the seat beside me. “What would this be – what would _we_ be – if I hadn’t told you I was having nightmares?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I was only able to work up the courage to talk to you when I knew you would suffer if I didn’t. It was very hard for me to find a way to tell you I didn’t want you to be just my friend anymore.”

Cullen extended a hand to me and I slid across the couch towards him. He pulled me into his lap and tucked my head under his chin as he wrapped his arms around me. “In that case, my sleepless nights served a grander purpose, and I am glad of them.”

“I would not relive the steps that brought me here,” I told the hollow of his throat, “but I am happy to be in this place at the end.”

His arms tightened around me, but he made no reply.

We eventually fell asleep that way – at least I did – and I woke up to Cullen gently untangling us and slipping off the couch in what looked like the middle of the damn night.

“Where are you going?” I mumbled.

“Time to get up,” he said, striding for the stairs. “We leave in an hour.”

I made a sound that might have been _hrnnnnng_ and pulled the blanket over my head.

“Last chance for bath until we reach Gaspard’s manse,” his voice called down.

I scoffed, but I got up.

An hour later we were dressed, _fucking freezing_ , and all assembled in the courtyard to leave. People were mounting up on horses around me and I realized – a bit belatedly – I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. I turned to find someone to ask – preferably Josephine – when I saw Cullen striding towards me through the tide of moving bodies, leading his horse.

Cullen’s warhorse – because of course it was – was a great beast of a thing, solid black but for a white blaze between his eyes. He – and it was _definitely_ a ‘he’ – was armored as heavily as Cullen was; rather than the great furred pauldrons that denoted his office, Cullen was in the heavy halfplate customary of templars, although his displayed the heraldry of the Inquisition. I realized he would be less of a target when he wasn’t wearing the symbols of Commander. A quick glance around showed a marked lack of pageantry in the advisor’s manners of dress. Cassandra was a simple Seeker, Leliana just another scout, and Josephine in a simple (if thick and likely warm) riding habit and layered coats and furs, much as I had been given to wear on the trip. We were difficult to pick out from the rest of the retainers, soldiers, servants and staff teeming around the courtyard.

“Are you coming, or did you finally change your mind?” Cullen asked.

“Just thinking. Do I get a horse, or I am walking?”

“Neither,” he laughed. “I heard about your travel arrangements with the Chargers when they returned you from your traipse about the Dales, and decided it was the best option for this trip, as well.”

“I’m riding with Krem?” I asked, delighted.

“If you wish,” Cullen answered mildly. “For the time being, however, I rather intended for you to ride with me.”

My stomach was inexplicably in my feet. “I- I would, ah, I would like that better.”

Cullen snorted a laugh. “I’m glad. Remember how to mount?”

I made a show of biting my lip and Cullen’s eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch. “I had ridden a horse before I came here.”

“Oh?” he asked, and moved to lend me a hand rather than physically lift me into the saddle.

I stepped up with my left foot, grasped the saddle, and launched myself up onto the massive Charger. I shifted forward so Cullen would have the more comfortable seat behind me.  “Maker, this is a long way up.”

Cullen laughed as he made a few adjustments on the saddle and then swung up behind me. Once he was settled, he buckled his shield onto his left arm and arranged the reins into his left hand. His right hand snaked across my abdomen and pulled me back so I was practically in the saddle with him, rather than perched in front of it. It was far more comfortable than how I had sat on Krem’s horse, but I felt like I should be blushing, with how tightly our thighs fit together.

Cullen’s mouth was even with my left ear, and I could feel his lips brush against the lobe as he spoke. “Is this alright?”

Not trusting my voice, I nodded.

“You can sit with Krem if you like.”

I shook my head vehemently, and Cullen chuckled. Between the horse beneath me and Cullen behind me I was _warm_ , far warmer than I thought I would be so high up in the air.

I had barely found time to get comfortable with the sensation – the backs of my thighs pressed against the front of his, his arm hard around my midsection; it was distracting for the first several hours, straight – before the Chargers decided they wanted to sing.

They weren’t singing at first. Dalish and Twitch started humming, and five or six more joined in before it was loud enough to bring me out of my dazed reverie. I looked around and caught Krem’s eye just as the Tevinter started up a baseline with his bracer against the lip of his shield.

“Seriously, you guys?” I called over at Stitches, who was laughing at me.

“You have nobody to blame but yourself,” he called back. “The longer you hold out the more obnoxious they’ll be.”

“What am I missing?” Cullen murmured into my ear.

I sighed. “My adoptive children want me to sing for them.”

If Cullen had a response, he forgot it as I capitulated and sang _Work Song_ for the Chargers. They all knew the chorus, and I had easily twenty voices joining me when I sang _When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold dark earth. No grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to her._

I had been working on translations for my favorite songs for them – they were so damn _insistent_ on being able to sing with me – and so I did each verse twice; once in the original English and then in the rough Common equivalent. The Common didn’t rhyme, but I managed to get the same meaning and syllables, so it worked well enough.

I wished very badly to turn around and look at Cullen’s face. All I knew of his reaction was the sound of his breath in my ear. His heavy armor kept me from feeling his heart beat, or really anything else for that matter. But his breath ran fast and ragged, and I could only imagine what he thought.

“This is what you did on the ride back from the Dales?” he whispered when I fell silent and his words were lost in the Charger’s happy cheer.

“More or less. But only on the second day. They’ve been talking me into bringing my music to the ‘Rest with me almost every day since then, so they know a lot of my favorites now.”

The Chargers didn’t keep me singing all day – but in the reprieves I got, they filled in the silence. By the time we reined in for the night, my throat was dry and sore. Solas wordlessly handed me a balm for my throat as I was passed from hand to hand amongst a few dozen people who all wanted to either rub my head or give me a hug as they said, “Thanks, Ma.”

“Is it always like this?” Cullen asked, seeming a little out of his element as I finally escaped the press of giddy mercenaries and ducked into the tent we intended to share. Leliana had raised an eyebrow, but I stated a need to keep the Commander’s nightmares in check while on the road and Cassandra _hastily_ stepped in to formally recommend the action.

“With the Chargers? Yes, more or less. Once they taught me how to say _horns up_ I never wanted for company.”

Cullen chuckled. “When was that?”

“That first day after Haven, when we were sitting around waiting for Hellen to wake up.”

This set of armor was easier to remove, it seemed, but I watched, fascinated, as he did it in the _exact same order_ as the ceremonial set he generally wore in Skyhold. “That long?”

I nodded. “They’re good to me.”

Cullen grunted as he shrugged out of his breastplate. “They’re getting a raise, then.”

“Oh?”

He nodded as he stripped off the last of his armor and dropped it onto a smallish portable armor stand that had been packed with his tent. “I’ll say it is for continuing services rendered and the increasing difficulties faced in service to the Inquisition.”

I smiled as we snuggled into the bedroll and settled into a comfortable tangle for sleep. “But that won’t be the real reason.”

“I just listened to you laugh and sing for _hours_ ,” he breathed, and I was moved almost to tears by the little catch of wonder in his tone. “There is so much about you I just don’t know, won’t _ever_ know, and I accept that… but to suddenly get this… this _gift_ … this damn Ball is already worthwhile.”

“How many more days do we get to do this?” I asked, suddenly unaccountably tired.

“Do what?” Cullen asked.

“Sit practically in your lap and sing to you under the pretense that I’m singing with the Chargers?”

He pressed a kiss against the top of my head. “Four days there, five days back.”

“Good,” I replied, and slipped into sleep.

 

*

 

The remaining four days of the trip to Halamshiral progressed almost identically to the first. On a few occassions, Cullen was needed at some other point in the column, and I was deftly handed off to Blackwall or Krem, who both had mounts strong enough to bear two in addition to having shields at the ready to keep me covered. The Crow attack Cullen feared – that I was _just sure_ Alistair had put in his head, as the way they’d met Zevran – never came. If anything it put the Commander more on edge, and by the time we reached Halamshiral it was all I could do to keep the man calm.

Our continued vocal adventures may have helped.

Hellen was the worst. She rode up beside Cullen and I on the third afternoon and winked at me.

“Oh no,” I laughed.

Cullen, who seemed to have been building up his courage to put his right hand on my right knee and _leave it there_ rather than the brief brushes he was frequently guilty of, laughed with me. “What now?”

“First, I was afraid,” Hellen said sagely, in a voice pitched to carry.

“No,” I said, my amusement immediately drying up. “No, you bitch, don’t you _dare._ ”

“I was petrified!” Krem called from some distance off.

“You know he can’t resist that, Hellen, you _suck_.”

“What is this?” Cullen asked.

“Oh, they’re being obnoxious,” I said dejectedly. “I’m going to be making a fool of myself in a minute here.”

“I kept thinking I could never live without you by my side,” Hellen replied.

Krem _galloped_ over to us, half the Chargers in tow.

“Fine. Just. Fucking Fine. _Fine_.” I gritted. I was rewarded with a veritable summer day of sunny faces.

“But then I spent so many nights thinking how you did me wrong,” Krem continued solemnly.

“Is this another song?” Cullen asked.

I tipped my head back and belted out the next line. “And I grew strong! I learned how to get along!”

The afternoon deteriorated from there. Hellen was in a silly mood, and the things she made me sing were correspondingly silly. Krem had, somehow, the _perfect_ voice to emulate Freddie Mercury, and had immediately developed an overwhelming fondness for _Bohemian Rhapsody_ , which I didn’t feel was appropriate for a delegation headed to peace talks. I was outvoted. The Chargers pounding their bracers together for _We Will Rock You_ was the last straw. I refused to participate, but they didn’t really need me anymore… I had taught them just enough to give them self-sufficiency. And I knew, too, that as soon as we got back to Skyhold and I had my cell phone retrieved from the carefully locked chest where it lay hidden, I would take it down to the Rest and teach them more ridiculous songs. As much as they didn’t care for propriety, they were keeping my world alive with their antics. I didn’t know if it was intentional, but I loved them for it. Cullen decided it was definitely intentional, and encouraged it – within reason. If they were singing too loud to hear for an ambush, the Chargers were sent off on a scouting circuit. They got the point.

I finished the journey on my own horse, after a brief but heated argument between Cullen and Leliana.

“She will be identified immediately at the Ball tonight,” Cullen had insisted. “Any safety she is granted by anonymity will be short-lived. Better she be protected, with Blackwall or Krem and not on foot.”

“The time she will be most vulnerable the first hours we are in Gaspard’s manse,” Leliana had countered. “Once we have secured our lodging and given Cole time to scout the building, she will be as safe here as she has been in Skyhold. If I were trying to assassinate Gwen, I would do it as soon as she arrived, while personnel are shifting and security is nebulous. Anonymity now is key, regardless of the impossibility of maintaining it.”

“It seems highly improper to have her trailing behind us like a servant,” Josephine sniffed.

That, more than anything else, decided the correct course of action for me. “And _that_ is how everyone else will see it,” I said. “Let go, Cullen, I’m going to go walk with the Chargers. No _Orlesian_ will look for me in a mercenary band.”

Cullen left his arm in place, holding my back hard against his chest for so long that I thought he would refuse. Finally, with a sigh of long suffering he released me and reined in his horse. Before he would try to dismount and hand me down, I threw one leg over and slid off the massive war horse. I hit the ground running and darted through the column to where the Chargers marched.

“Gwen!” Krem called happily. “Want up?”

I shook my head. “I’m going to walk the rest of the way. Keep me company?”

"And walk? Are you kidding? No way." Krem made a show of rolling his eyes before laughing, as much at himself as at me. "We've got extra horses, always plan ahead. We'll bring one up and you can ride with us. Be a Charger for the day!"

A short cheer went up, and the mercenaries shuffled to give me a place in their formation, hauling up an extra horse and sitting me between Stitches and Dalish. I felt exposed for the first time, but never unprotected. We didn’t sing any of the songs I had taught them, as we all agreed it was a bad idea given the circumstances, but all the Chargers’ regular marching tunes, from before they had known me, were dusted off and taught to me as we rolled into Halamshiral.

It seemed they understood propriety, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halamshiral will be the next section. As mentioned, it is a seven-night ordeal. I have split it up so each chapter is one of those nights, so (ta-daaa) that means seven chapters of Halamshiral. I'm posting them once a week, because (a) they're huge and (b) I need the extra time to get pt 3 finished, as I'm currently only 15K words into it. Life has been hectic, I'm sorry. I figure I'll slow down my posting schedule so I don't have a hiatus. That said, I think I'm going to post chapters on Tuesday nights/Wednesday mornings.
> 
> We've got a few more personal quests and revelations to come in Part 3, which will take us through the Arbor Wilds, the reopening of the Breach, and end with the coronation of Divine Victoria.
> 
> I have a lot of thinking to do about exactly where I'm going to go with Trespasser, as I don't want to make this so AU that I can't extend this world into the next game. I have THE BEST IDEA for this story going into the next game, and not messing that up is going to take an awful lot of thinking. Stay tuned!


	42. Halamshiral: Night One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition arrives at the Winter Palace, sets up shop in Gaspard's manse, and gets their party on.
> 
>  
> 
> _The shepherd's lost, and his home is far._  
>  _Keep to the stars, the dawn will come._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just shy of 8K words. Pencil yourself some time.
> 
> *
> 
> EDIT: NOW WITH ART  
> Hellen and Gwen, courtesy of the amazing Grimmcake.

We timed our arrival for shortly before noon on the first day of the Ball. It was early enough to be polite to our host, the Grand Duke Gaspard, but late enough that we weren’t camped on his doorstep the night before. When we rolled into the courtyard at Gaspard’s _modest manse_ , as we had been told to expect, it was in perfect formation, without so much as a strap of armor or armament out of place. I was far in the back and missed the greetings and ceremony; I didn’t even see what Gaspard looked like. The Iron Bull sauntered over to Krem as I dismounted in a side courtyard with the rest of the Chargers, and casually gave Krem a number of orders, including the oversight of the porters offloading the Inquisition’s luggage carts.

I slipped in with the rest of the servants and Chargers and helped haul one of the dozens of trunks containing the finery for the Ball up to the third floor rooms assigned to the Inquisition leadership. The second echelon – Hellen’s inner circle outside of the advisers and Vivienne, who also was upstairs – had the second floor, while the entirety of the ground floor and the first basement below were overrun by Inquisition soldiers and staff. Gaspard had given the Inquisition one entire wing of his _modest manse_ ; the Chargers quickly reached the conclusion that none of them had ever stayed anywhere as swank, nor were they likely to again.

When the trunk I was helping carry to Josephine’s room was set down, Josephine called for me to stay behind, choosing me seemingly at random to do the unpacking amongst the half-dozen servants and staff milling around in the thinly organized chaos.

I spent the next three hours in Josephine’s expansive dressing room, unloading the clothing the majority of the Inquisition was to wear for seven nights of formalities. Josephine was keeping in her rooms the attire for anyone who was deemed untrustworthy – Sera, most particularly – but everything else was distributed to the people who were to wear it. Josephine had packed them all together to be sure individual trunks were not targeted for destruction – Sera, again – and so that she could triple-check that everything we would need to put up a good front for the Orlesian court had been brought.

The dresses the women of the council were wearing were packed completely differently, in what I would call steamer trunks. Each one was rather precisely labeled and stood upright. Josephine checked each for damage and then had it hauled to individual rooms. Leliana and Cassandra, I learned, were sharing a room as the Right and Left Hands of the Divine. Vivienne had a room on the third floor as well. Hellen had the most spacious apartment, and Cullen had gotten the smallest room. Besides Josephine’s apartment, the only other room on the top floor was a parlor at the west end of the wing, where large bay windows lit the room with warm afternoon sunlight and overstuffed chairs scattered about promised a comfortable place to read.

The steamer trunk labeled with my name, I saw, was kept in Josephine’s room.

“Am I not trustworthy?” I asked when we were alone.

Josie laughed. “Of course you are, Lady Gwen. But you will be getting dressed with me each night, so it makes more sense to keep your formals here. Your daily wear is in a different trunk and is being stowed…” she paused. “Actually, this is an oversight. Since we did not introduce you to Gaspard, you do not have an apartment assigned.”

“I am staying with Cullen,” I asserted. We hadn’t discussed it, but I hadn’t slept apart from the Commander in over a month and had no intention of starting now. “I am certain it is the only way he will rest while we are here.”

“But keeping your clothes in his rooms is highly improper,” Josephine disapproved.

I sighed. “Do what you feel is best, Josie. But if it is improper, it will be unexpected.”

Josephine actually ground her teeth for a moment before seeming to come back to herself. “I will ask Hellen to make a decision, although I am sure she will agree with you. The rest of your things can stay here for now.”

“And the plan for this evening?” I asked.

“Hellen and her advisers are dining with Grand Duke Gaspard…” She tensed for a moment, as if seeing another oversight. “ _Oh_ but this is frustrating. You have no place set at the table, and Hellen did not confirm to Gaspard that you were even here. You must eat with the rest of the Inquisition downstairs.”

I shrugged. “That’s fine.”

“And then immediately come up to dress,” Josephine continued hurriedly. “We will have you board the carriage while it is yet in the wheelhouse, so you are not seen in the courtyard. You will have to be very careful not to soil your dress-“

“I can manage, Josephine,” I laughed. “It will all work out.”

The Ambassador sighed. “I am sure you are right. I will send Lytha for you as soon as we are excused from dinner this eve, and I will oversee your preparations.”

“Yes, ser,” I laughed happily. “I promise to be less trouble than Sera.”

“If you ever manage to be _more_ trouble than Sera I will kill you myself,” Josephine laughed, although I could tell she wasn’t completely joking.

“What must I do in the meantime?”

“Dorian and Solas have been systematically warding the rooms in this wing. They did this apartment first, and Cole is… somewhere. Is he here?” I shook my head and she continued. “Very well. He is _somewhere_ nearby and is tasked with making sure all of the staff servicing this floor – and the rest of the wing, if possible – are what they appear to be. Your task, then, is to _stay here_ and stay out of trouble.”

“Again with the trouble!” I laughed. “What has Sera threatened to do?”

Josie shook her head angrily. “It is what she has been _sanctioned_ to do. Augh! I cannot. Forgive me, Gwendolyn. Please, just… _stay here_.”

“I have a book in my trunk,” I told her gently. “I would be happy to curl up on your settee with a book and a blanket and not move for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Thank you,” Josephine sighed contentedly.

I matched action to word, and dug out the tome of Gentivi that Cullen had gifted me with. It was slow going, but everything I most needed to learn about was within the covers, and I had worked through nearly half of it already. I was looking forward to the more recent additions near the back, but refused to skip ahead.

Josephine freshened up – grumbling loudly about the barbarism of _chamber pots_ , much to my amusement – and made her way to dinner. I was brought a tray nearly an hour later by Lytha, who declared it was easier to sneak food up than it was to sneak me down. “Mister Blackwall led me here, and made sure no one was in the stairwell or the hall as I made my way up.”

“Is he still here?”I asked as she set up the tray on a table and I pulled a chair over.

She shook her head. “No, he went down to his own dinner.”

“Alright. Thank you, Lytha.”

She beamed at me and disappeared. Any regret I felt at dining alone was immediately alleviated by the smiling spirit perched on the chaise nearby.

“Come to keep me company, Cole?”

“Safe,” he declared happily.

“Yeah? How many people did you have to kill to be able to say that?”

“Four,” he shrugged, and I choked on the sip of wine I had just taken.

“Cole!” I gasped. “I was joking! Where did you put the bodies?”

“Dorian stood them up and walked them into the woods,” he answered. “Wait to burn them on a cloudy day. Frozen for now.”

“Well. Alright. Thank you for keeping me safe, Cole.”

His smile morphed into a legitimate grin and I could not help but smile back. “Trust me,” he said, with the air of picking thoughts from my head. “Love me protect me _trust me_.”

“I trust you, love,” I agreed easily.

His smile became almost painful to look at as I realized I was probably the only person he’d ever known who trusted him completely. Solas trusted _no one_ completely, so the Dread Wolf was a distant second place.

I reached across and cupped his cheek, not bothering to try and compress my feelings into words.

Cole knew.

“Cinnamon bun,” he told me happily.

I laughed and went back to my dinner. “The best cinnamon bun,” I agreed.

Josephine returned with a small army, and Cole vanished along with my carefully cleared and stacked tray as I was stripped, bathed, dried, pinned, painted, dressed and generally fussed over. A light dusting of kohl was applied to my hair to darken it without dye, and my lips were painted a dusky sort of red. The kohl was rubbed around my eyes, as well, although the mask Josephine laid out for me to wear would cover the rest of my face.

When my dress was brought out, it was all I could do not to cry. One of the women helping Josephine dropped her work and darted over to wave her hands in front of my eyes and keep the tears from running and streaking the kohl.

“Josephine! Should I wear that on the first night? I’ll feel under-dressed the rest of the week.”

Josie grinned almost mischievously. “Oh, I can promise you will never feel under-dressed while we are here. Best to make your impact tonight, when Hellen can appear beside you to best effect.”

“Hellen’s not wearing the same thing as the rest of the Inquisition?” I asked. I had been sure Hellen was wearing the uniform the majority of her inner circle was to be attired in.

“Not tonight, and not the last night,” Josephine answered. “I talked her into a proper dress tonight, and the last night… is a different matter. It was a bit of a negotiation.”

Josephine personally helped me into the heavy black velvet dress, fastened the mask in place around my precisely curled and kohled hair, and swung a heavy cloak around my shoulders, setting the hood carefully in place to make me little more than a shadow.

Lytha bundled me out of the room and down through the servant’s quarters to the carriage house. Cole actually led the way, but I didn’t see the point in telling the elven servant that. There was a breezeway between the main house and the carriage house, and Lytha stopped at the door. We waited until the door across the way opened, and I broke into a helpless grin when I saw Lyal holding open the opposite portal. I darted across and Lyal shut the door quickly behind me.

“Lyal!” I pulled the elf into a quick hug, which she laughingly returned. “I thought you were in the Dales!”

“Sister Nightingale moved me here when Lace returned to Skyhold. I was part of the official staff who came ahead to prepare this wing for the Inquisition’s arrival. I took over the carriage house, which I thought was a shitty deal until I heard about the plan for tonight.”

I smiled happily. “Am I recognizable?”

“Not remotely,” she laughed. “You’re far too pleasant to be in Orlais.”

I laughed with her and let her lead me to my carriage for the evening. “We’ve had men here for two months, trying to sort through the staffing the Grand Duke was providing and making sure everyone was legitimate. In the end, we split the carriage house in half. Only Inquisition is allowed to touch these two carriages. The horses are stabled separately, so that was an easier arrangement.

“We have two?” I asked.

Lyal nodded as she gestured to the nearer of two identical white-and-bronze carriages. “This one is yours for the evening. You will be riding with Cassandra and Vivienne. Hellen will be in the other, with Leliana and Josephine. That way there’s only one noncombatant in each carriage. The Chargers will stay here at the manse, while everyone else goes to the Ball on horseback.”

“Who’s driving the carriages?” I asked.

“Nobody special,” the footman answered for Lyal, swinging down from the driver’s seat. It took a moment to place his face.

“Malcolm!” I gasped as I recognized him. “Oh, it’s so nice to see you doing well!”

His face split into a wide grin. “Yes, ser. I’m honored you remember me, ser.”

“Of course I do,” I assured him. “And not just because you were half-cooked by a dragon. You were missed in the infirmary when you were let go. You were easily the most helpful patient I’ve ever had. I am so glad to see you healthy.”

His grin somehow got wider. “Thank you, ser.”

“Is this a theme?” I laughed, gesturing between Lyal and Malcolm.

“I believe so,” my driver affirmed, turning around in the seat so I could see him.

“Devon!” I called happily. “Oh, it’s _so good_ to see you. I never wanted to check the rolls from Adamant, I was so afraid I would find you there.”

“We were all reassigned by Leliana,” Malcolm confided in me. “Viole and Uther are here, too, manning the other carriage.”

I looked up at Devon. “Ricker?”

He shook his head. “He's the one you would have seen on the Adamant casualty report.”

I swallowed back the lump in my throat. “Maker keep him.”

“Most everyone bearing arms but not in the honor guard is someone you had in the infirmary,” Lyal softly informed me. “Leliana took each of us out and had us rather extensively vetted. She wanted people loyal to _you_ , since just about everyone is loyal to the Inquisitor.”

“Seems I owe the Nightingale a drink,” I sighed.

Malcolm laughed. “Come, get inside. We’ve got mulled wine to keep you warm while you’re waiting on the others.”

“One of you come sit with me and keep me company,” I insisted as Malcolm helped me up into the carriage. They argued for a moment before agreeing to take turns. It was an hour before the bell tolled and the carriages were pulled around to the courtyard, and I spent the time telling stories with my former patients. Devon admitted that things hadn’t worked out between him and the lady who worked in the Herald’s Rest; he just couldn’t compete with a tavern full of Chargers. He had happily taken the Nightingale’s assignment to Orlais, given it would only last until the Winter Ball was ended.

Lyal held onto the back of the carriage with Malcolm as Devon drove us around to pick up the others. I sat against the side of the carriage by the door, so that when it swung open to admit the women of the Inquisition I was as concealed as possible. Malcolm’s placement blocked more of the view, and Devon had rather carefully parked the carriage where a fountain would also obstruct the line of sight inside.

Cassandra, wearing a stiff-collared coat over fitted trousers and knee-high leather boots, was a study in black. Her coat was the same heavy black velvet as my dress, but with the insignia of the Inquisition embroidered subtly in a glossy black counterpoint to otherwise silver accents. It wasn’t the precise cut as the uniform I remembered from the Game, but rather carefully tailored to give the impression that Cassandra was every bit as much a warrior as she was a lady.

Vivienne was wearing a dress cut much the same as every other dress I had ever seen her in, flaring only enough to accentuate her already flawless figure. This one was crafted of luminous black silk to match the black velvet that seemed to be the theme for the night. Vivienne’s only inclusion of velvet was in the heavy half-cape she wore draped over her shoulders to ward off the cold. It, along with her dress, was carefully accented with silver embroidery and accents.

“I thought I would be annoyed, not knowing what everybody was wearing,” I confessed to Vivienne as the carriage door swung closed. “I was so wrong, this is much better.” We were stationary for only a minute before Devon drove us out of Gaspard’s courtyard for the short trip down the road to the Winter Palace.

“It is thrilling to be surprised, is it not?” Vivienne replied with absolutely no sarcasm.

“I did not think so, but I am happy to have been wrong.”

Cassandra managed a weak smile, where I had expected a grunt.

“You look lovely, Cassandra,” I declared.

She snorted. “It will serve. I can only be grateful I was not stuffed into a dress as was Hellen.”

“Stuffed,” Vivienne sniffed. “You must not have seen her, to use such an adjective. There was no _stuffing_ involved.”

Cassandra made an annoyed sort of grunt and I tried to think of something to say to break the tension. It proved unnecessary, as Devon was calling the horses to a halt and then the door was swinging open and Hellen’s voice was calling for me in English.

“Sister mine, come in with me.”

“Leave your cloak, my dear,” Vivienne encouraged me. “You will not need it inside.”

I shrugged out of the concealment and slid as gracefully out of the carriage as I could manage with layers of skirts trying to tangle my legs. I caught Malcolm’s extended forearm and he deftly handed me down and then off to Hellen.

One glance at Hellen stopped my breath. She was wrapped in flowing layers of silk, and the only black on her was the very bottom hem of her dress. The color slowly bled into fiery reds and oranges, fading into yellow and finally a dusky blue at her bust and shoulders that was scandalously close to her own skin tone. The dress was cut to leave no question that Hellen fought hard and fought often, but – like Cassandra – was still unrepentantly feminine. It left her throat and arms bare but covered her shoulders and exposed no cleavage. Her mask was minimalist, barely covering her eyes and nose and leaving everything else exposed; it managed to contain all the same colors as her dress.

“My god, you’re the fucking dawn,” I gasped, grateful for the cover of English for my profanity.

“Gwen, have you _seen yourself_?” she hissed in the same language. “Jo is going to slap me for staring.”

“She did a great job, no?” I asked, doing everything I could to avoid giggling like a child.

The dress Josephine had given me for the night was cut modestly, with a stiff collar that brushed my chin and fitted sleeves that came to a point on the backs of my hands. The bodice was unadorned, carefully tailored velvet that cinched at the waist with a belt made of layers of the glossy black silk Josephine wore. The skirt flared out over layers of petticoats to swirl around me, a perfect circle hovering just above the floor. Sewn into the thick velvet were hundreds of tiny cut stones that looked like smoky quartz. It had taken me awhile to realize they were in the precise pattern of the Thedosian night sky.

“Keep to the stars,” Josephine quoted softly from Hellen’s left elbow, “the dawn will come. Now, remember the plan. Keep moving, go on.”

Hellen spun so she stood on my right and crooked her left elbow just enough for me to reach up and loosely link my arm with hers. She was too tall for me to tuck my hand into her elbow like I did with the Commander, but my wrist linked nicely against hers. Once we were moving I was able to lift my eyes to my surroundings.

I realized I had missed everyone else’s first look at my dress, and I suddenly acutely regretted not catching the expression on Cullen’s face.

“He was devastated,” Leliana said from where she walked just behind me with Josephine, as if she had read my mind. “Don’t worry, _I_ made sure to watch. He’s at the end of our little procession, with Dorian.”

“Bless you,” I whispered back, and the four of us laughed.

“You and me,” Hellen told me without moving her lips. “Then Josie and Leliana. Then Vivienne and Dorian. Cullen and Cassandra last. Hawke should be right behind us.”

“Just advisers and the previously titled?” I surmised.

“Correct.”

“And how are you introducing me?”

“Name, Skyhold title, War room title.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Dead serious. You want to be bait? You’re bait.”

Gaspard was being introduced when we made our way through the grand double doors. The air was bitterly cold, and nobody was milling around outside.  Gaspard’s ridiculously long list of titles gave me time to look around the ball room before we were introduced.

The place was spectacular. It was too dark to see much of the exterior, given the lateness of the year and how early it was falling dark. Inside, the early sunset was combated with hundreds of points of light. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling; lamps were placed every few feet along the wall and circled every column that marched down the hall. Somewhere near the ceiling, several torches had been place in front of curved, highly polished mirrors; the focused spotlights they produced were aimed at the top of the stairs on either side of the ball room, illuminating whoever was being announced and the woman they were being introduced to.

Empress Celene looked, from where I stood, to be exactly as she had been presented in the game. She was wearing a rich blue dress of the same cut and style as she had been when she was digital. I kept my eyes on her as Hellen led me forward into the spot light for our introduction.

When the light hit my dress the hundreds of gems flared to life, and an audible gasp rippled through the room.

“I’m kissing Josephine for this,” I warned Hellen under my breath. She shushed me without letting the smile drop from her expression.

“Leading the delegation of the Inquisition, lady Inquisitor Hellen Adaar of Skyhold. Accompanying her-“ the crier faltered.

“Read it or I tear you in half,” Hellen hissed without moving her mouth.

“Lady Gwendolyn Murray of Boston, Chief of the Skyhold Medical Corps and… S-S-S-Seeress to the Inquisition.”

“That wasn’t so hard,” she chided as she drew me out of the spotlight and down the stairs.

"What was that about?"

"You're not really supposed to be here. We told everyone you weren't coming. Also, the whole Seeress thing? Generally agreed to be terrifying." Leliana and Josephine took our place in the spotlight and were immediately introduced with far more poise than I had been. “Did you see Gaspard’s face when you were introduced?”

“No,” I answered. “Never took my eyes off Celene.”

“Gaspard’s our target.”

“Why instigate a civil war if you’re just going to assassinate the other party?” I disagreed.

“Not for Celene, ass,” Hellen sighed. “For _you_. We have two assassination plots to unravel here, remember? I don’t know why, but the person targeting you is _definitely_ Gaspard.”

I scarcely avoided frowning, smoothing my expression back into a calm smile at the last minute. Thank god for masks. “How do you know?”

“Leliana is a world-class snoop, for one. And then she got a look at the pile of assassins Cole started here to rival the one he left in Skyhold.”

“I trust you,” I told her. “What do we do?”

“Oh, we _make him suffer_ ,” she answered. With the careful smile on her face, the statement was utterly terrifying.

“You would be scary as hell if you weren’t tempered by Wisdom, you know?”

We dropped identical curtsies to Celene then, the last of our party having finally crossed the ballroom floor. “If you think Wisdom won’t let me use any means possible to keep you safe, you’re a fool. Wisdom will burn this place to the ground to protect you, if it comes to that.”

“Where’s the wisdom in that?” I quipped to cover my sudden disquiet.

“She, at least, understands how important you are,” Hellen answered as we stood up and faced the Empress.

I was _not_ paying attention to their conversation, and Hellen spoke to Celene as I struggled with the idea of _Wisdom_ leveling Halamshiral in my name. I’d saved her, yes, but she wasn’t a spirit of Justice or Loyalty. The implication was that I, personally, was more important than the Inquisition’s relationship with Orlais or even the Empress herself. The idea was almost comical, it was so far-fetched.

And yet I had the distinct feeling that Hellen meant every word.

She was leading me off the floor, then, and suddenly there was a barrier between my skin and the fabric of my dress, clinging so close as to be invisible in the unsteady lamplight of the hall. I sucked in a breath. “That shit’s _freezing,_ Hellen.”

“This is the choke point,” she replied. “Everybody leaves the floor the same way, everyone gets funneled away from Celene the same way. Leliana said this was when you would be most vulnerable tonight, if somebody had learned that you were coming to the Ball.”

I shivered. “I prefer cold to dead. _But still_.”

“You are not to be alone tonight, do you hear me?”

“I hear you, ser,” I chanted back lightly, and she laughed.

She carefully drew our arms apart and slipped away. Her place was immediately taken by Cullen as Hellen disappeared into the crowd. Or perhaps it was Cullen and I who vanished into the crush of bodies; from my perspective it was the same.

“Please tell me how to keep my composure,” the Commander said almost directly into my ear as he carefully directed me through the crowd towards the corner near to where we’d entered.

“Well, you could have worn a mask,” I reminded him. Besides Hellen and I, only Leliana, Josephine, Vivienne and Dorian opted to wear masks. Cullen and Cassandra had rather flatly refused, and Hellen wasn’t intending to wear it outside of tonight.

“While I maintain that’s a ridiculous option, I can see the reasoning behind it.”

“Can you?”

“Maker, have you _seen_ yourself? If a mask would cover up the sheer number of times you’ve drawn my eye and left me staring and breathless, then it would be worth the trouble.”

His words lit a fire in my cheeks and dropped a hundred butterflies into my chest. “Flatterer.”

“You know better,” he laughed, voice low. I fought a losing battle against a rush of goosebumps down my back. “At some point tonight some man – or woman, Maker save me – is going to try to steal you away, even if for only a dance, and Void take me if I don’t kill him outright.”

Cullen received three whispered messages from various Inquisition agents as we walked through the assembly, and each one seemed to change the trajectory of our stroll until Cullen was moving with a definite purpose.

“Where are you taking us?”

“There’s a table, there by the weird plants, that has cover from almost every direction. There’s one angle that it can be seen from, and Lyal has been sent to take up a post there. It’s the safest place in the room.”

“Won’t that seem awful suspicious?” I asked as I watched the woman standing beside the bar-top table in question seem to suddenly take ill and need to be escorted out of the ball. We arrived just as she was cleared away.

“I don’t bloody care,” Cullen answered, depositing me in the lee of the topiary.

“Ah, but you should,” Dorian said, appearing to take up my hand just as Cullen released it. “Until we get reinforcements in place, Lyal’s position cannot come under scrutiny. Our lovely Gwennie is to keep moving for the time being.”

Before Cullen could dispute Dorian’s claim – and his face was definitely advertising a dispute – Dorian tucked my hand through his elbow and swept me away.

“Where are we going?” I asked him. He leaned over me protectively, and I did my best to cower against him.

“To the only place where you can be both visible and safe – the place where there is _no_ long-range vantage available.”

“Which is?”

“The dance floor,” Dorian replied. We stepped into the queue just as the ballroom floor was opened to dancers and the line started moving. We were the second-to-the-last couple onto the floor before the music started, and so we were only ever stationary for a moment at a time.

“I’ve never danced except for lessons with Josephine,” I confided in him as he pulled us into motion.

“Can you follow?”

I nodded.

“Then trust me. Relax, and let me do all the work. Try that spectacular will of yours, and _willfully_ surrender to my superior skill.”

It was good advice. Great advice, even. I focused on trusting Dorian, on relaxing and following his lead. The next thing I knew, we were whirling through the steps, two black figures in a sea of riotous colors. Dorian was wearing the Inquisition uniform tonight, on the surface matching Cullen, Cassandra, and the rest of the delegation. Hellen stood out from the rest of the Inquisition like a candle in a coal mine; even the other ladies eschewing the uniform wore black, although each dress was a reflection of their own personal style.

Each individual uniform, too, seemed different. Cullen’s embellishments clearly marked him as a Commander, while Dorian’s slightly asymmetrical seaming gave a very different feel to what was ostensibly the same suit. They were each tailored well, to be as flattering as possible while still being a _uniform_.

I was focused on Dorian, but I realized the black clothing of the Inquisition made us stand out from the vast majority of the attendees. As I spun and twirled through the steps of the dance, I caught glimpses of black figures in the crowd and knew they were one of us.

It was unspeakably comforting.

That, and Hellen blending in with the assembled nobility was a masterstroke. The Inquisition as a whole stood out, but not Hellen. Hellen was one of _them_.

The dance ended, the dancers shifted, the next dance began, and through it all Dorian had me constantly moving. My dress floated around me, light shimmering from my skirts whenever I passed through a patch of mirror-concentrated torchlight. By the beginning of the third dance I could hear people talking about me. By the end of the fourth, it was all I could hear.

The band needed a break before we did, and Dorian led me skillfully from the floor before we could be cornered. He deposited me back at Cullen’s table – the Commander having not moved – and then vanished. “I must go mingle, darling, you know how it is.”

Cullen’s face was unreadable. “We can go home now,” I told him happily.

He closed his eyes as he chuckled silently. “Oh?”

“I just wanted to dance at the ball. I’m good. We can go.”

“Pink stuff!” Sera called out, suddenly at my right elbow. “Glass of the pink stuff for the both o’ya.”

She had a tray covered with champagne flutes, and she deposited two of them on the table and then spun around, somehow not spilling a drop as she disappeared into the crowd.

“What the-“

“Only drink what Sera says is safe,” Leliana said, occupying the space Sera had just vacated.

I shuddered. “She’s in the kitchens, isn’t she?”

Leliana nodded.

I wrapped my fingers around the stem of the flute and cupped the other hand protectively around the glass. “I don’t want to know what’s in the other stuff, do I?”

Leliana and Cullen both shook their heads quickly, _no_.

Cullen went to say something, but was cut off by Garrett Hawke’s arrival at our table.

“Could you do that again?” he asked me.

“What’s that?”

“Dance? Like that? Half the people here are talking about you, but all the rest of them are looking at me like I just announced Orlesian babies are the tastiest. I need a reprieve.”

I put my hand out to the Champion of Kirkwall. “The question is if you can lead as well as Dorian.”

“Challenge accepted,” Hawke laughed and led me back to the floor.

The rogue blood mage was dressed the part, with a dashing coat reminiscent of Hellen’s favorite duster, although his was a deep red, so dark as to appear black at a glance. Under it he wore jet black leather boots, pants, and vest, with just the smallest triangle of blood red silk shirt visible at his neck. We cut a path through the dancers almost as gracefully as I had with Dorian. Dorian was a hard act to follow, but Hawke rose to the challenge.

“So when did you learn to dance?” I asked Garrett as we found our stride. “In Kirkwall or in Skyhold?”

“Kirkwall,” he answered easily. “Once we had Mother’s family name restored, she rather insisted on my learning how to at least play the part of a gentleman.”

I regretted bringing up his mother, given what I knew about her life and death, and Hawke must have guessed my thoughts. “You remind me a bit of her,” he continued softly. “Not in looks, of course. And Maker knows not in mannerism. You could have given her lessons on grace and tact, I swear. But there’s something about you that is very motherly, Gwen. The Chargers named you aright; the way you smile as their special brand of crazy swirls around you reminds me of the way our mother used to watch us as children. Bethy and I creating targets for Carver to hit with his sling, or Bethy bringing home every wild animal she ever found and begging to keep it while Carver and I stole whatever it was out from under her and released it into the woods.”

His face softened as he spoke, and I couldn’t help but stare. Once the fierceness faded from his features, Garrett was a remarkably handsome man. The warmth in his voice as he remembered his childhood and the women he had lost was so sweet as to be heartbreaking.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said softly, recalling me to our surroundings. “Commander Curly might string me up.”

“Oh, he might anyways,” I laughed. “He issued a blanket threat to anyone who tried to steal me away tonight.”

“No thefts planned, milady Seer,” Garrett insisted. “I don’t think I’m wrong to say you didn’t bring your heart with you to the dance floor.”

“Just as yours is in Skyhold,” I affirmed.

“He needs you, you know,” Hawke barely whispered.

“Oh, I know.”

“I don’t mean in the headaches-and-nightmares sort of way,” he insisted, more loudly. “I mean in the reason-for-living, validation-of-existence, stick-out-of-the-ass sort of way.”

“I know,” I repeated, laughing.

“ _Doooooo_ you?” he pressed, as we swirled through a particularly intricate bit of footwork. “Do you _really_?”

“I watched him over _your shoulder_ ,” I reminded him, trying to keep my laughter to a level the Orlesians might consider acceptable. “I know what he was like.”

“Huh,” Hawke grunted, apparently having not considered that before. “Anders said your version of everyone is based on Varric’s perspective.”

“More or less.”

“Maker, you must think Fenris is a _twat_ ,” Garrett laughed, and I had to rest my head on his shoulder to stay upright as I giggled.

“I might have a view of your companions that was skewed a bit. The Anders I knew was a caricature of the real thing, so I can only guess at what everyone else is really like. Merrill was pretty accurate, though.”

Hawke beamed. “She was, wasn’t she? He did a good job with her.”

“Your bias is showing,” I chided, and it was his turn to laugh.

The dance came to an end – we’d been on the floor for a few – and we moved off the floor as the band took another break. Hawke escorted me back to Cullen and left me in the little nook between the topiary and the wall. “Commander,” he said as he bowed and made his escape.

“Hawke,” Cullen replied solemnly.

“Did I miss anything?” I asked when we were alone. “Alone” being a relative term, given the sheer number of people in the ball room.

“An elderly gentleman may or may not have pinched my ass,” he answered with absolutely no inflection, “and the rumor has spread that there’s some kind of laxative in one of the drinks, although there is argument about which one it is. Josephine is doing her best not to react. Leliana believes individual glasses are being targeted, rather than whole bottles of champagne. And Seeker Cassandra has been proposed to no less than four times, and managed not to kill any of her suitors.”

I buried my laugh in the glass of rosé Sera had again left me. “Shall I stay and defend your honor?”

One of Cullen’s eyebrows twitched, and if I didn’t know better I would have called his expression _predatory_. “How would you propose to go about such a defense?”

“Are you mocking me?” I demanded, feigning insult. “I can be quite fierce when provoked!”

“I would never dream to,” he replied, capturing my left hand and pressing it quickly to his mouth as I abandoned the pretense of being offended and laughed happily. “My question was purely academic; as I am a scholar of tactics, I am intrigued by your proposal.”

“You have spent altogether too much time in Orlais,” I laughed, snatching my hand away. “Listen to you!”

“It does seem to be catching,” he admitted, his scar twitching with the effort of hiding his smile.

“I don’t know,” I said thoughtfully, pretending to consider _my tactics_. “I have found a good defense is a good offense.”

“Oh? And how would you go on the offensive, milady?”

We were not supposed to be having this much fun. I was being targeted by assassins, there was a plot to assassinate the Empress, the Palace was probably crawling with spies from the Qun as well as Fen’Harel and the Venatori. And yet, standing there laughing with Cullen, the rest of the world seemed to diminish into the background.

“I could make an attempt to slap hands away before your flesh met with offense,” I suggested.

“While I could appreciate that, Josephine would be apoplectic,” Cullen replied, losing the battle to restrain his laugh.

“True,” I admitted happily. “And I suppose standing with hands hovering over your backside, poised to slap away perverts would be just as ridiculous as the attack itself.”

Cullen nodded. “Indeed.”

“Perhaps, instead, I will merely use the will Solas has found so remarkable in me to convince invaders that I have a prior claim to your body.”

It came out far more sultry than I intended, and the humor faded from Cullen’s features. He reached out with his left hand and hooked my thumb with his, pressing our palms together. His eyes held mine as he lifted my hand back up to his mouth. “It would take no great act of will,” he murmured, his lips brushing my skin as he spoke. “For surely anyone with eyes in their head could see that is the simple truth.”

Here it was, then. I could feel the tremor in my hand and fought to come up with a suitable reply – anything other than a breathy silence. I had slept in his arms for more than a month, and he had never attempted to move our relationship forward, never put his lips anywhere beyond the bounds of propriety, never complained or bargained or even _asked_. He had waited until I was ready.

And, judging by my current reaction, I was _so_ ready.

“Gwen,” Hellen’s voice cut through the crowd as she suddenly materialized from somewhere on the far side of the topiary. I jerked my hand out of Cullen’s grasp in surprise, and saw his face fall as I spun around. I was going to _kill_ Hellen.

“Cullen, report,” she gritted. Cullen gave her a great deal more detail than I had gotten, outlining the conversations that had happened around him and the identities of his assailants.

“So nothing critical,” she sighed. “Round up the troops, we’re escaping as soon as the bell tolls. Gwen, we need to go clear the dance floor.”

I put my hand to Cullen’s sleeve as Hellen stepped away and offered me her arm.

“Forgive me,” he murmured.

“No,” I replied, forcefully enough to startle Hellen and cause Cullen to go completely still. “There is nothing to forgive, Cullen. I’m sorry we were interrupted.”

Some of the tension cleared from his face, but then Hellen had her hand on my elbow and I was being drawn away.

“What did I interrupt?” she asked quietly as we made our way through the throng.

“A possible opening of romantic overtures,” I answered loftily.

“You haven’t even kissed the poor bastard yet, have you?”

I did my best to emulate Cassandra, grunting with as much disgust as I could manage. “No, and if I had any luck at all that would have _just changed_.”

“Oh, so now its _my fault_ ,” she sighed as we reached the floor.

“It’s always your fault, Hellen,” I teased. “And how are we clearing the floor? This looks like we’re in the queue to dance.’

Hellen sighed, over-dramatically. “No faith. Of all the people in my life, the one specifically sent from my Maker to save me is the one with absolutely no faith.”

She spun me lightly, caught me, and then settled us into position to dance.

The music started, and I knew the floor would be utterly empty within seconds.

Hawke could dance. Dorian was better. But Hellen? She must have taken it to heart, or taken extra lessons from Josie, or _something_ because she made me feel like I was flying. Three steps in I abandoned all hope of extraneous thought and focused on following.

She had Dorian’s flare for the dramatic, Hawke’s predatory grace, and Vivienne’s sense of style. She managed to spin me through every individual spot light on the floor and made it look incidental. After a moment, even I was wondering if the lights were being moved to create the explosions of starlight that kept drawing eyes and inciting waves of whispers.

I was vaguely aware of _everyone_ watching us. Cullen had moved to the stairs nearest the door. Celene was standing on her landing, one hand resting lightly on the railing. Gaspard and Florianne were flanking her, and I cursed their masks as much as I gave thanks for my own. I could see the black uniforms of the Inquisition spaced evenly throughout the crowd, and I knew we were being carefully guarded, even now. The idea relieved the last of the tension I felt in my shoulders, and then it seemed my feet only barely touched the ground as I practically floated through the forms, supported by Hellen like I was no more substantive than Wisdom.

The song finished with Hellen and I hand-in-hand at arm length, and the room broke out in wild applause. She positioned us to stand side-by-side facing the Empress, and we curtsied as we had when we first arrived. As we rose, the bell set to announce the beginning and end of each night’s festivities started to toll, and Hellen spun us on our heels to head for the door.

I felt a bit like Cinderella, escaping the ball as the bells began to ring.

Even being on the wrong end of the ballroom floor as we were, Hellen and I were two of the very first people out of the building. Cassandra was the first. Cullen was the second. Blackwall was the third. The four of them formed up around me and we walked briskly to the carriages that were waiting to carry us back to Gaspard’s mansion. My cloak was sitting on the same seat I had left it, but there was a heating pan wrapped up in it, which I moved to the floor and gently placed my slippered feet upon as I gratefully wrapped the cloak around my shoulders.

The ballroom had been comfortable, but walking into the bitter winter chill had frozen the sweat on my body and set me immediately to shivering.

Cassandra stepped into the carriage directly behind me, and Vivienne joined us moments later. I heard Hellen tell the coachman not to delay, and then Devon’s voice clucked the horses into motion and we lurched forward.

We were back in the mansion within minutes, there being no traffic on the road, and the Chargers were filling the courtyard when we pulled in. I was scooped up by Bull and quickly carried inside – no greeting, no granting consent, no apology. I was set down inside Cullen’s room where Krem was lounging with his feet on the desk.

Because _of course_ Cullen had been given a room with a desk.

“I’ve been in here since the Commander left,” Krem explained as Bull turned and left again. “No one’s been in or out but for supervised Inquisition staff, so we know there’s no changes to the room. Same with the other apartments on this wing – they’ve all had a Charger in ‘em, all night.”

“Simple but effective, I suppose,” I granted, and then hid a jaw-cracking yawn behind my hand. “Sorry.”

“No worries,” Krem asked. “We all assumed you were crashing with the Commander…?”

I  nodded. “I don’t think he would sleep otherwise.”

“That all you doing?” Krem asked, one eyebrow just slightly rising. “Sleeping?”

“Not that it is _any_ of your business, but yes. All I have ever done with the Commander overnight is _sleep_.”

“Still tore up over the ex?” Krem guessed.

I shook my head. “Still floundering over how to actually make this into what we want it to be.”

If Krem had an answer, it was lost when the door handle turned. The Charger Lieutenant was between me and the door before it had cracked open, and had his sword out and ready to strike before it was apparent the newcomer was the Commander himself.

“Good man,” Cullen congratulated Krem as the Lieutenant immediately sheathed his sword and stood down. “You are relieved for the evening. The next shift is taking the hallway watch. Have a good night.”

“Thank you, Commander. You as well.” He managed to say it without a trace of irony. Krem turned and winked at me as he backed out of the door. “G’night, ma.”

Cullen snorted a laugh and took a stack of missives to the desk that I hadn’t noticed in his hands when he entered. He sat down and dutifully started sorting through them.

Rather than try to distract the man from his job – which was, incidentally, focused on keeping my own ass alive as well as saving the world – I plodded into the bedroom, worked my way out of my dress and layered petticoats, pulled on a clean shift and crawled into Cullen’s turned down and preheated bed. I knew he was more likely to sleep if I was in bed, but I didn’t anticipate the sudden overwhelming exhaustion that crashed over me. The hours of dancing and stress of the day pulled me under, and I was immediately asleep.


	43. Halamshiral: Night Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Night of Firsts
> 
> (posting a scunch early to help somebody's day end better than it began)
> 
> NOW WITH ART from the amazing [Chanterie](http://chanterie.tumblr.com/) <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO just shy of 8K words. Sense a trend?
> 
> In other news, anyone who enjoyed [Higgins' Song](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3662928/chapters/8095902) \- the last installment of the [Noble Thief](http://archiveofourown.org/series/206828) series - might be interested in popping back over there and taking a look-see. I've added art from dissatisfied_doodles, Eisen, and Chanterie... and the amazing StabSpoon actually recorded The Templar's Lament (Higgins' Song) and put it on the internet for us all to enjoy! I've got it linked to [Chapter 30](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3662928/chapters/8673130), at the beginning.

I woke up with the feeling I had slept far too long. The sunlight slanted across the floor spoke of late morning; when the person you sleep beside is up with the dawn, missing four or five hours of daylight is unheard of.

Cullen was _not_ awake, however. He was curled up beside me, one arm draped across my waist. His breath on the back of my neck was causing the fine hairs there to flutter, and I suspected it was the tickle that woke me.

He snapped awake the second I tried to slide out of bed. “Stay,” he murmured.

“Meeting in Hellen’s room over brunch,” I reminded him. “I need a bath and a change of clothes before then.”

“Brunch around here isn’t until well after noon,” he argued, pulling me tighter against him. “You don’t understand how these damn Orlesians work.”

“You don’t seem to understand how badly I want a bath,” I countered.

He laughed and loosened his hold, and I slid out of the covers. My shift had twisted up in my sleep, and I had to work a moment to straighten it out so I could walk across the hall to Leliana’s room. The best bathing chamber was in the room she shared with Cassandra.

I glanced at Cullen to wave goodbye and realized he was staring at me. The shift was thin to begin with, and when twisted around me it likely had left little to the imagination.

The look he was aiming at me gave me a serious case of butterflies.

“We should talk about that,” I told him as I headed towards the door.

“Hrm?” he asked, clearly distracted.

“That thought you just had, that was painted all over your face. That’s something we should probably talk about. Maybe sometime soon?”

He flushed crimson. If he was going to reply, he didn’t get around to it before my feet carried me out of the bedroom, through the sitting room, and into the hall.

I laughed to myself as I crossed to Leliana’s room and knocked on the door.

“You’re late!” she called, and I took it as permission to enter.

“So I shouldn’t have to wait long to get a turn in a tub, right?” I countered.

She was wrapped in dense towels, and she gestured at one of the tubs. There were three in the room, all of them full of water and steaming. Two of them contained people – Cassandra and Josephine – and the third was waiting for me.

“Much longer and the water would have started to chill,” Leliana chided.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” I assured her, and set about bathing with alacrity.

I was dressed in my personal uniform – the crisp white tunic of a healer over closely fitted pants and jerkin – when we met in Hellen’s room an hour or so after noon. Everyone was present; war room meetings in Halamshiral seemed to include the entire inner circle, plus Hawke. The room wasn’t quite big enough to accommodate so many, but we made it work.

Hellen ran the meeting, and did a circuit around to give everyone a turn to speak. No gossip was considered inconsequential, and it was nearly two hours before everything was said. I was a little embarrassed to have so little to report, but I had spent nearly the entire night dancing with some member or the other of the Inquisition.

Leliana waved off my apology. “You are _not_ to mingle, not until we know who here is trying to kill you. And besides, you are serving far better as a distraction. Perhaps you did not notice the attention you drew as you danced? I heard more than one person bemoan the inability to approach you to request a turn. It was a pity Hellen couldn’t spend more time dancing.”

“Yes, well. I didn’t exactly have the time to maintain the façade,” Hellen snarked, and then launched into  a retelling of her own reconnaissance. She had been everywhere, it seemed, and spoken to nearly everyone. The talks were not going well, and she had been invited into the proceedings for the second night of the Ball.

We were dismissed with the reminder that tonight we were wearing red.

“Red?” I asked Josephine.

She fluttered a hand at me. “You need not be concerned over your appearance. You are dressing in my chambers for the entirety of our time here, and I will make sure you are wearing the correct ensemble for each given night.”

“And dinner?”

Josephine looked a bit embarrassed. “I know you do not take offense, but still, it bothers me. It was decided that you would take all your meals with the rest of our delegation. Lytha and Lyal will come up to get you for the evening meal.”

I did my best not to laugh, and put a consoling hand on Josie’s arm. “Thank you for being so concerned about me. I’m not nobility, Josephine, and I don’t want to pretend to be.”

“Cullen is not, either, nor is Leliana, and yet as advisors to the Inquisition they are seated with myself and Cassandra,” Josephine argued. I patted her arm, and she took a deep breath before letting the topic drop.

“So after dinner I’ll come back and get dressed?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds like a plan. And until then?”

The Ambassador managed a sly grin in spite of her discomfort over my dining arrangements. “I hear Lady Cassandra intends to spend the afternoon reading in the solar, at the end of the hall by Hellen’s room.”

“Oh, you are a _godsend_ ,” I cooed, and darted for the door.

Cassandra bolted up guiltily when I cracked open the door, and sat back red-faced when she recognized me.

“Josephine hinted I might find you here,” I told her apologetically.

“Yes, of course, do come in.”

“Do you have the first in that series?” I asked her, nodding at the book she was reading. She had the cover carefully concealed by the pillow it rested against in her lap.

“Series? I-“

“Cassandra,” I interrupted. “I was married for the better part of a decade. _Happily married_. I’ve been alone for eight months now, and only just now _considering_ a relationship. If you’ve got solid reading material that you’re holding out on me…”

She blushed crimson and then immediately stood. “I did not consider it in quite those terms,” she admitted. She moved to a bag hidden nearby and rummaged through it until producing a dog-eared tome. “By all means, let me be of assistance in your hour of need.” 

I laughed and swung a chair around to face her. We angled ourselves to block the view of our dust jackets from anyone who happened to enter the room, and then settled in to read.

Cassandra read almost as fast as I did, which amused us both to no end as we turned pages simultaneously. Varric’s chapters seemed to be of a consistent length – because _of course_ she was reading Varric’s serials – and so we would reach pauses between chapters at roughly the same time, as well.

I grew closer to Cassandra that afternoon, and we scarcely spoke a word.

Sera fetched us both for dinner, and I gave the novel back to Cassandra, who tucked it in her bag and promised to have it for me the next afternoon – as well as the sequel, given the rate I was working through the first book – if I wanted to meet again and while away the time between brunch and dinner. I happily agreed and left with an impatient Red Jenny.

Dinner with the “servants” was a farce. Half the escorting forces were former patients, and walking into the dining was like being Norm on Cheers. “Gwen!” was called from all corners of the room, and I started laughing three paces past the door. It felt like I didn’t stop for the entirety of the meal. I sat between Sera and Hawke, and no topic was off limits. The two of them had equally unfavorable opinions of the nobility they had met the night before, and they toasted their mutual acquaintances with the rigor of a Comedian’s Roast.

Lytha was keeping track of the time, and she wrestled me free and hauled me upstairs to meet Josephine in her chambers in time to dress for the second night of the Ball.

The Inquisition as a whole was wearing the red uniforms I was familiar with from the game, which now seemed impossibly far removed from the reality I was living. Reminders like this were stark and uncomfortable. Hellen was matching the rest of the delegation tonight, leaving just the four of us – Josephine, Leliana, Vivienne, and myself – to don the masks and dresses of an Orlesian ball.

“Should we not look like the others?” I asked as Josephine instructed a chambermaid on how to twist up my hair, this night bereft of kohl.

Vivienne scoffed. “We are here in the same entourage, my dear, one cannot expect us to _dress_ the same. It may suit for the fighters – and those who wish to appear as part of the military – but for any of us to appear as just another soldier would cause more speculation and dissension than it could possible solve.”

I would not argue with Vivienne, and the First Enchanter seemed to know and appreciate it. I nodded and submitted to the ministrations of the small army of attendants present.

We were all in the same color, if in wildly different dresses and fabrics. I was given a dress far more similar to Leliana’s on this night, with an almost straight skirt slashed to the thigh to reveal a thick layer of black silk beneath the vivid crimson. The bodice was nearly identical to the night before, but rose to the base of my throat instead of covering my neck. My sleeves were again fitted, with a layer of black lace around the cuffs and seams. A long thin keyhole was cutout from the collar to my waist down the back, with just enough lace to make my skin appear in quick flashes as I moved. My hair was pinned up high, and the black mask from the night before made its second appearance. My lips, though, were painted the same scarlet as my dress.

My shoes had Leliana’s name written all over them. Four inch stiletto heels, wrapped in the same lace as adorned my dress, but with red piping along the sole; I noticed they matched Leliana’s nicely.

“Can I say I adore your taste in shoes?” I told her, as I tipped one foot forward to admire them.

“Can I say how glad I am you know how to walk in heels?” Josephine cut in. “We neglected to ask you before they were ordered.”

“Did you not see the shoes she wore with her wedding dress?” Vivienne asked, mildly astonished. “It was the first thing I looked to in the picture she showed.”

“Blue!” Leliana chirped. “I could not believe it, under those mounds of white lace.”

“It was the beading I saw,” Josephine confessed. “I could not look past the beading. It was a small fortune in pearls.”

“Artificial pearls,” I confessed. “Not as expensive as you might think.”

“That such a thing is even possible…” Josephine continued, undeterred, as the bells begin to toll to call us to the Ball.

“Alright! Enough!” Leliana said, shooing Josephine and I towards the door. “Madame de Fer, if you are ready?”

With a regal nod, Vivienne led the three of us out the door and down to the carriages. Everyone else had already assembled in the courtyard when we arrived.

Cullen caught my hand as I reached the bottom of the stairs and gently spun me around in a circle.

“You look unbelievable,” he murmured against my hand as he lifted it to his lips.

“Thank you, love,” I answered softly.

He froze, and I silently cursed the slip.

“Perhaps we _should_ have that discussion this eve,” he suggested, as he tucked my hand into his elbow and led me to the carriage. “Given that it is Satinalia and all.”

“Tonight?”I asked eagerly, tipping my head up to gaze up at the giant glowing orb that was Satina. If she was dead center in the sky, I couldn’t tell – she looked much the same as she had the night before. “Tonight is Satinalia?”

“I believe the Empress is celebrating it formally on the third night of the Ball, but tonight is the holiday itself, yes.”

“And Satinalia lends itself to honesty?” I worked to keep a smile on my face, so my tone would seem light. It was difficult, given the way my heart was pounding from somewhere below my stomach.

“Not… particularly, no. But it does call for gifts.” His voice dropped, clearly pitched for my ears alone. “And right now I only want for one thing.”

My dress was suddenly far too tight. My _skin_ was too tight, I could not draw in a full breath.

“I’ll see you at the Ball, love,” he said as he released my hand, and it was all I could do not to fall into my seat.

The door swung shut and we were moving within minutes, but not before I was descended upon by Josephine and Leliana, who pushed themselves into our carriage before Cassandra could attempt to enter.

“What was that?” Leliana demanded.

“Did he just say what I thought he said?” Josephine added immediately after.

“It is altogether too warm in here,” I said, leaning back into my seat and fanning myself awkwardly with both hands. “Does it seem warm to any of you?”

Vivienne wordlessly handed me a black fan from her clutch and smiled knowingly as I snapped it open and used it more as a shield against Leliana and Josephine.

They abandoned their attempt before we reached the Winter Palace, talking rapidly between themselves about what they’d thought they heard – their individual recollections were identical – and what the possible implications of the exchange might be.

Vivienne, for her part, patted me lightly on the knee and kept silent.

I had never been a fan of Vivienne, but I loved her in that moment.

The ride, which had seemed far too short the night before, stretched on forever. When we finally clattered to a halt in the courtyard, our carriage was the last to be unloaded. The entirety of the Inquisition delegation – a sea of scarlet – was waiting for us. Cullen stepped forward to hand me down from the carriage, and swept me past Gaspard without a word. Josephine entered the ball on Gaspard’s arm, while Leliana was escorted by Cassandra and Vivienne by Hellen herself.

We had been introduced the evening prior, and so we swept past the mostly-obsolete crier and bypassed the gauntlet that had been so nerve-wracking the first night. Cullen led me straight to the table we’d staked out as safest. I thought I caught a glimpse of Lyal out a window as I was settled into the lee of the topiary and was swiftly handed a drink.

I knew to wait until Sera had approved a beverage for the evening, so I merely tipped the flute to my lips and then set it aside.

“I don’t believe this is the place to talk,” I told Cullen when the crowd noise had died down enough that I had some faith in my words being discerned.

“I could not agree more,” he grumbled, practically glaring at the milling nobility.

He seemed to be mulling over something, but before I could ask, Sera appeared with a platter of champagne flutes. “Ooh, well done, you’ve got the good one already,” she said, although she swapped it for the one she’d brought, leaving two fresh glasses on the pristine white table cloth. Cullen and I lifted the flutes and toasted wordlessly as Sera vanished into the crowd. The noise made it impossible to do much more than stand and listen, and I suddenly understood how everyone else had so much to report at brunch: it seemed all the Orlesians knew how to do was gossip. My ears were filled with more mindless blather than I could have imagined possible.

“Something is happening tonight,” Dorian informed us as he brushed against me some time later, his next – more audible words – an apology and an entreaty to dance.

“She was on the floor all night last night, they would expect it,” Cullen disagreed under his breath. Aloud, he said, “I was just about to beg the lady to join me in a quick tour of the grounds. I did not see the garden yesterday. Could you show us the way, Lord Pavus?”

With a polite tilt to his head, Dorian turned on his heel and led us through the crowd.

“The servants quarter,” I reminded Cullen. “It will start there first.”

He nodded. “No complaints about the service tonight.”

He was right. Whatever the rumors were that Dorian had heard, it was not the assassination as I knew it.

We made it to the garden with no incident, and I was delighted to see it arranged _precisely_ as it had been in-game. I eyed the trellis and knew there was _no way_ Hellen was climbing that without being noticed. She would have to go through the inside. Or, wait until the garden was cleared for some reason or the other. A distraction, perhaps.

Dorian split off to follow a trail of conversation – something about Tevinter relations in Seheron – and Cullen gently led me to a secluded corner beneath a balcony. With him between me and the garden, I was practically invisible.

“Now, about that conversation you thought we should have,” he told me in a voice like smoke and honey.

My heart was instantly pounding again, and I drew a shaky breath.

“Gwen,” he said in a cooler tone, clearly backpedalling as he misinterpreted my reaction, “we don’t have to-“

My heels made it easier – it wasn’t as much as a stretch as it would have been otherwise – to step forward, lace my hands around his neck, and draw his mouth to mine for a kiss.

It was just a brush, less contact with his mouth than the back of my hand generally got, but it made me dizzy. I didn’t know whether to be enraged or amused by my body’s sudden insistence upon responding like a fifteen year old who’s never been kissed.

I stepped back unsteadily, slightly concerned by the utter lack of reciprocation from Cullen. He was standing perfectly still, hands hovering just beneath my elbows, not actually making contact. His eyes were gently shut, and his breath slow and even. As I released my hold on his neck and pulled my arms down, his eyes opened.

“Don’t do that again,” he whispered, and my heart broke.

He must have seen it on my face, because his hands slid up to cup my elbows and halt my sudden escape. He shook his head gently. “No, blast it, I didn't mean...” He hissed out a frustrated breath and inhaled slowly before trying again. I rested my palms on his chest and tried to carefully piece myself back together. I took several long breaths as I listened to him explain. "I lay down beside you every night and wake up beside you every morning, and the time in between is perfect agony. I do not regret the decisions we have made, the place where it has led us, but you have to know how difficult this has been for me. The only thing that lets me keep some semblance of control is the knowledge that you have not been ready to progress past... whatever  _this_ is. Knowing its alright to kiss you... Gwen, I'm just a man. I don't know how I can hold you in my arms at night and _know_ I can kiss you and  _not_."

“You're saying,” I stated carefully, trying to keep my emotions in check, "that my kissing you blurs the boundaries I've set. I kiss you now, and by our rule, that means you can kiss me back."

Cullen nodded. "If I kiss your lips," he whispered, "can I kiss your neck? If I can kiss you neck... what can I  _not_ kiss?"

I smiled as my heart fluttered in my chest. "So before I kiss you, I should clarify the rules," I offered.

He swallowed roughly and then nodded.

"Alright. How about this: I won't kiss you again until I am willing to raise the restriction, throw out the rule. When I kiss you again, it will mean we can go about this like two consenting adults, rather than as one person trying to tiptoe around another person's hangups. When I kiss you again, it will be because I want us to be more than we are, and I don't need to have such careful control over the situation anymore. It will mean I trust myself as much as I trust you, and I believe we're doing the right thing. Does that sound fair? Can we agree to that?"

He had to take two more steadying breaths before he trusted his voice enough to say, “Agreed.”

“Good,” I sighed, and stepped toward him, sliding my hands up the front of his jacket to curl around his neck. “As long as we’re agreed.” I pulled his mouth down to mine and _kissed him again_.

The _sound_ he made was almost enough to make me laugh out loud, but I only managed to grin at his grunt of surprise. He got over the shock quickly, though. I brushed my lips across his twice, a dry ghost of a kiss, before his arms slid around me and he reciprocated. Where I was tentative, he was sure; his mouth caught mine and held. His breath tasted of mint and I blessed Dorian’s meddlesome nature. We split apart for long enough to breathe and then eased back together, his right hand splayed across the small of my back and his left hand gliding up to cup my jaw. I was struck, again, by how _warm_ he was; the dry heat of his mouth, surrounded by the just-shy-of-painful rasp of his carefully maintained stubble, was a combination that was so definitively  _Cullen_ any concerns I had about confusing him with Patrick evaporated. His nose brushed my mask and he _growled_ at it, hooking his thumb under the bottom edge to drag it up and away.

“Curly!” Hawke’s voice called from _far_ too close by. “Curly, Varric sent me to come get you. What are you doing out- oh. Oh, shit, sorry,” he laughed once he saw me. “I’m doubly sorry, Maker knows _this_ needed to happen. But Hellen’s looking for you, said something about needing you to get some information out of a chevalier?”

“Forgive me, my lady,” he told me. “Perhaps we could continue this conversation later?”

I shivered. “I desperately hope so.”

He nodded as a smile ghosted across his face and he turned away from me to face Hawke. He was remarkably unmussed. I would have to do better next time. “Where was Hellen?”

“In the courtyard out front, although she was on the move. I can take you to where I last saw her.”

“You will stay here with the lady Gwen,” he said with the hard edge of command in his voice.

Hawke blinked several times, as if trying to decide whether he was taking orders from the former Templar.

Cullen’s back was to me, so I could only imagine the expression on his face. His voice softened and I barely heard him say, “Please, Garrett.”

I expected smugness in Hawke’s answering smile, but all I saw was empathy. “Gwennie and I had some catching up to do, anyways. Go find your boss.”

Cullen strode off – but not without one last backwards glance that was so full of remorse I almost chased after him.

I didn’t have a chance.

“So, Gwen, about the weird Fade shit you do,” Garrett said, striding over to stand beside me. I swiveled a quarter-turn to face him better…

...so the arrow fired from the roof across the garden hit me in the back, just right of center, instead of splintering my ribs and killing me instantly.

I screamed. I tried to call out for help – for Cullen, for Hellen – but the sound that escaped was wordless pain. Hawke caught me as I fell, spinning me lightly to land more on my left side, and with a swipe of his arm brought up a wall off flame to obscure us from any other archers. Cullen’s shout of frustration indicated we were obscured from his view, as well.

Dorian was calling my name, and somewhere in the distance I could hear a bellow of rage.

I took a deep breath and felt electricity race down my spine into my groin. “Nicked a kidney,” I told Hawke between panted breaths. “Just a nick, I think, but eventually fatal. I’ll bleed out if we don’t get help fast.”

“I’m no healer, Gwen,” Garrett told me, and I could hear the thread of fear in his voice. My heart rate was increasing, and I could feel my blood pressure starting to drop; my vision was getting wobbly and my head was growing light.

“Not a nick,” I amended my previous assessment. “I’m in a lot of trouble, Hawke. Can we get Hellen here?”

“She was in the courtyard on the opposite side of the palace, and we’re pinned down.”

The roar of the fires around us were interfering with sound, but I became aware of the sounds of fighting – the impacts of projectiles and the screams of the dying.

_At least I got to dance at the Ball,_ I thought grimly, and pushed myself a bit more upright. The motion loosened the arrow and a stream of blood gushed out of my back. My head grew markedly more wobbly. _At least I got to kiss Cullen_. I wiped my right hand awkwardly around the wound and extended the bloody appendage to Hawke.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at the proffered hand.

“Do you have a potion?” I asked.

He shook his head, through a flash of guilt, and I nodded once. “Very well. You can’t save me, Garrett. Avenge me.”

His eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

I nodded again, more weakly, and thrust my hand at him. “Take it, asshole. If I’m going down, I want you to take all those fuckers out with me.”

He yet hesitated, and I lunged forward – or what I could manage that approximated a lunge – and smeared my thumb across his nose. The streak of blood across his face cast a strange shadow in his eyes, and the fierceness I thought I saw before was _nothing_ compared the look he bore now.

He reached down with no further hesitation and clasped my hand in his. I felt the blood evaporate from my hand; my back immediately felt dry. The blood around the wound stopped flowing, and I felt light enough to float away. I was looking into Hawke’s eyes as the whites filled with red, his irises vanishing in a crimson flood until only pinpoint black pupils remained. I reached into the Fade as I had when I met Anders and pulled as much extra power up for him as I could, channeling it into his hand. His short-cropped black hair seemed to stand on end, and the flames around us thinned. Hawke could see over them, but I was still obscured.

Hawke lifted his free hand, pointed at the arrow in my back, and sent it flying back to the bow that had fired it. We watched the trajectory to see it clatter against the rooftop behind a dormer. A hand darted out to collect it and then disappeared back into the shadow beside the window.

Hawke made a grasping motion with his hand, and the hidden archer reappeared, as if pulled away from the dormer. He let go of me, and I tumbled to the ground, almost losing sight of what he was doing. Hawke extended his other hand and made a fist. Far away on the rooftop, the archer who’d shot me was suddenly dangling from his arms as if held by unseen forces.

Hawke jerked his arms apart, and split the man in two.

The effect on the battle was instant. Battle shouts turned into screams of horror as Hawke used the pints of blood I had spilled and the stream of energy I was channeling out of the Fade to systematically pull apart anyone he decided was an enemy combatant. Half of the archers on the roof – from the small corner I could see, at least – were throwing down their weapons and groveling.

The other half were aiming at Hawke.

The world was growing dark around the edges. I tried to hold on to life as I had before – sustaining myself with my connection to the Fade – but I was losing it faster than I could draw it in. Solas had warned me that the Fade was no replacement for health, and I was getting that lesson illustrated.

Cullen was back – or hadn’t left – and I could just see him from where I lay. He had been unarmed, but his left arm was bloodied to the elbow and his right arm was swinging a sword in a lazy circle as if he was getting used to its weight. A man in rough chainmail rushed him, and in a flurry of moves I couldn’t see clearly enough to understand, the man dropped in a heap and Cullen was left lazily swinging _two_ swords. He took a step closer to Hawke, and then engaged another combatant. The man’s head bounced lazily away; Cullen didn’t seem winded. He took another step towards Hawke – towards me. I was strangely aware of the clench to his jaw, the intensity of his eyes, and it occurred to me that Cullen already thought me dead.

There was some kind of explosion at the glass doors, and the bellow I was vaguely aware of before was suddenly the only audible sound.

Hellen Adaar had arrived, with the entirety of the Inquisition at her back.

She was in a full rage.

“To Gwen!” Dorian called. I couldn’t see him from where I lay but he sounded close – and tired. “By Hawke!”

Garrett was still systematically pulling people apart. I laid my head down as a flood of crimson uniforms spread across the garden.

“Not yet, damn you,” Hellen barked into my ear. “You hold on, Gwen, do you hear me?”

“Trying to,” I answered. The world went dark again and then _cold_ , before roaring back to life. I heard the tinkle of broken glass followed by Hellen’s voice raised in a wordless, enraged scream. A piece of glass seemed to land on my forehead. There was a hand pressed to my face, then, forcing something into my mouth. Knowing I was surrounded by allies, I drank.

The liquid poured down my throat tasted like blood and charcoal. It was flatly disgusting.

I recognized the flavor, though, and swallowed as well as I was able.

Somebody was giving me a healing potion.

Hellen was roaring again, a terrifying sound that didn’t seem to end. She didn’t seem to be breathing. Sera’s face swam into view in front of mine. “Hellen sealed ya up. You’ll be right as rain. Just go easy.”

I nodded, and then reached around her to clasp Hellen’s ankle.

I was still channeling the Fade. I redirected the flow from myself into Hellen.

Hellen stopped screaming abruptly. The sounds of the battle lasted only a second longer, and then I heard a chorus of horrified shouts and the muffled sounds of someone – or multiple someones – vomiting.

Then dead silence.

Hellen sat down heavily beside me, and I pulled the Fade back into myself, trying to speed along the healing potion. It felt like forever before I was able to focus my eyes, but Hawke was just dropping to his knees beside us. Cullen had taken only three steps in my direction, fear and anger painted across his face. I sat up wearily.

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Hawke breathed when he saw me move. “I thought I was going to have to submit to Anders and Justice beating the shit out of me for letting you die.”

“Because Andraste knows they’ve never managed it on their own,” Varric chimed in.

“Just that once, and there were extenuating circumstances.”

“What happened?” I asked before Varric and Hawke could get too carried away.

“It appears to me,” Dorian said from somewhere off to my right, “that Hawke ripped most of the archers in half and Hellen made everyone else’s head explode.”

“Yup,” Sera agreed, throwing herself into the grass beside me. “Literally. Blown. Up.”

I shuddered away from the carnage in the rest of the garden. “Force all the blood in their body into their skulls?” I asked.

Her back was to me. She shook her head roughly. I could hear her breathing, a harsh pattern of pain or stress. “What’s wrong, Hellen?”

Hawke turned a critical eye to her. “Andraste’s melted nipples, Adaar, you’ve got to burn that off,” he gasped. “You’re still full to bursting. What did you do?”

“Lyrium,” Dorian said, kicking through the shards of glass on the ground. “Don’t think she’s ever taken it before.”

“And I was powering her after she healed me,” I confessed.

“Heal everyone,” Hawke said, putting a hand to her shoulder. “Right now. Heal every last one of your allies at the same time. Go.”

Hellen lifted her head, and I thought she meant to argue, but she shuddered and raised her left hand instead. The anchor was dancing with energy, and I could almost make out the shape of wisdom in the green flames rising up from her palm. The anchor flared and my vision went green. My heart rate dropped, my blood pressure rose, and the pain in my back completely vanished. The ache in my hip from the accident all those years ago disappeared, too; I’d lived with it so long I’d forgotten it was there.

“Better,” Hawke was saying. “Maker, not enough. Alright. Let’s… hm. You’re good with ice, yes? Freeze all these bodies. All of them. Together. Go.”

The courtyard was covered with ice. Hellen’s breath ran ragged.

“Almost there. Pile them up in a stack in the middle. That’ll make burning them easier. And more hygienic.”

Altogether too many small pieces rose into the air and accumulated into a pile at the base of the fountain. Hellen’s head and hand drooped.

“Void take you, Adaar, you’re still all lit up.”

“It’s manageable now,” she gritted. “Thank you, Hawke.”

“I meant to thank _you_ ,” he said into the silence following her gratitude – everyone else seemed to be struggling to come to grips with what had happened. “If you’d decided to become a blood mage you’d be fucking terrifying. You did us all a favor by opting for the kindler, gentler, healer-of-the-people type.”

It was enough to make Hellen laugh. “Well, you know, I did do it for you, in particular.”

“Of course you did. I’m the bloody Champion of fucking Kirkwall.”

“Bloody is right,” Varric agreed. “How in the Void are we going to explain this?”

“The courtyard was full of people when Gwen was hit,” Cullen said. He had dropped into a crouch about a pace in front of Hellen. “The story has already spread that an arrow hit our Seeress and we raced to defend her. That there was a bloodbath should be expected.”

“Anticipated eagerly, no less,” Vivienne added.

“Too bad there’s nobody left for questioning,” Josephine said lightly. She was picking her way carefully across the courtyard from the remains of the french doors leading back into the ball. “Celene has requested a full inquiry.”

“We don’t need survivors,” Hellen gritted.

“No,” Dorian confirmed. “That’s what you have me for.”

He came over to me and laid a hand on my back. There was a _memory_ of pain – not the pain itself, but almost like the neurons that had experienced it were confirming it had happened. Dorian put his hand out then, and pointed at the messy remains of a man strewn across the dormer on the opposite side of the garden.

“That one, if you would,” he asked no one in particular.

“You could have skipped that step,” Hawke sniffed. “I knew who got her.”

“Merely being thorough, good ser,” Dorian responded coolly.

“You didn’t freeze the bodies on the roof, my dear,” Vivienne chided Hellen as she was sweeping up the air around the corpse in question and soon it was gliding down from the rooftop to settle at Dorian’s feet with a very disturbing, wet sort of sound. Josephine made a light gagging noise and turned away. No one else seemed particularly bothered.

Cullen stood up and walked around to where I was still half-sprawled in the grass. He reached down and gathered me up as the mages bickered amongst themselves about who was actually going to levitate the mangled remains through the halls of the Winter Palace. Vivienne was the most skilled with air, and the least willing to appear to be a mere corpse monger in Halamshiral.

Cullen lifted me easily and set me on my feet as Solas interrupted the argument with an exasperated, “Oh, for the love of – I’ll do it! Just get out of the way.”

“Can you stand?” Cullen asked, reaching up to unclasp the simple hook-and-loop that kept my mask in place. I nodded. “Are you well?” I nodded again as he lifted the mask clear and tossed it nonchalantly to the grass at our feet. “Good,” he said, and then leaned over and kissed me.

This was not the kiss from before. It was not a gentle first kiss, nor an eager second. This was the sort of kiss that was life-affirming. This was _I thought you were dead_ and _I wasted too much time_ and _I don’t fucking care who sees this_ all wrapped up in one. This was the sort of kiss that made a girl's toes curl and caused her to forget there was ever anyone in her life before then.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back as best as I was able through my surprise and exhaustion.

There was not a single sound in the garden as he pulled away and held me until I regained my balance. I wasn’t sure any of our friends were even _breathing_.

“I thought I lost you,” he told me. His voice was pitched for my ears alone, but I was positive everyone else had heard him.

“I love you,” I replied.

He answered with another kiss, pulling me hard into his arms and crushing me against him. I threaded my fingers through his hair and held his lips to mine and tried to ignore the fact that this was all very _very_ public.

“Pay up,” I heard Dorian say.

“For fuck’s sake, Sparkler.”

“I called this _five months ago_. Pay up.”

Varric started grumbling and I couldn’t help but laugh as I heard the clink of coins being exchanged, breaking our mouths apart. Cullen shifted so he was hugging me tightly. “Does it hurt at all?”

“No,” I insisted, leaving one hand in his hair and wrapping the other around his shoulders. “Please, don’t stop holding me because of it, I swear its _fine_.”

Cullen was able to laugh, then, and the moment ended.

“Sooooooo we need to find _those two_ a room,” Hawke quipped. “How about we scrape up our culprit here and put him on ice until tomorrow? Have a proper little court session between brunch and afternoon tea?”

“How about we have a proper little court session _tonight_ ,” Hellen snarled, and it was clear she was not entertaining a discussion. With Cullen now firmly at my side – my right hand in his, his left arm around my waist – we filed through the now-empty halls in a diamond formation, Hellen at the front with me ensconced in the middle.

Celene immediately called the assembly to order, and asked Hellen to recount the events of the evening. Hellen deferred to Hawke, who had _clearly_ spent too much time with Varric and embellished the hell out of everything… except when it came to his own contribution. He happily skipped over everything he had done, stating only that he’d put up a fire wall to shield me from any further shots. Cullen’s unarmed rush into the melee was expounded upon, Dorian was given credit for clearing out the archers, and Hellen’s arrival was marked as the moment all the hostiles were killed and all our allies saved.

I had a better understanding of Hawke by his story. His ability to draw together a family, more than merely a team, likely stemmed from his willingness to give everyone around him more credit than their due. His own fame must have come from Varric

“You left no survivors for questioning?” Gaspard demanded angrily. “How are we to get to the bottom of this?”

“I brought a Necromancer,” Hellen answered, and made a sharp gesture to Dorian.

The Very Dead Archer stood up roughly from the floor. His parts were all in approximately the right places, but quite obviously disconnected. His voice didn’t seem to have a physical source, which was good because his jaw was in six pieces. I was vaguely aware of the commotion he caused in the hall; only vaguely because I was so focused on his story and the reactions of the Empress that I didn't pay much mind to the screams and faints happening all over the ballroom.

The Very Dead Archer told us the story of his life: he was a crofter from just outside Val Chevin. He’d joined the army to try to make a difference in his homeland. He had risen in the ranks, and then been recruited into an elite company that did specialized missions for his noble benefactor.

“Did you attempt to kill Gwendolyn Murray?” Hellen demanded.

“Kill the offworlder,” the Very Dead Archer replied, in a tone so similar to Cole’s it gave me chills. I reflected that he was a summoned spirit now, and the comparison was apt. “Kill the Seer. Black mask and red lips. Kill the American. Kill the Mother. Kill the Herald.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Gaspard spluttered. “Was he meant to kill the Seer or the Herald?”

“Who ordered you to kill the Herald?” Hellen asked, ignoring Gaspard entirely.

“Grand Duke Gaspard,” the spirit of the archer answered.

Hellen spun around to face the Grand Duke, whose face had gone pale. “Gaspard, you have been accused of heresy of the first degree, with an attempt made on the life of the Herald of Andraste. How do you plead?”

“I never sent _anyone_ after you,” the Duke spat. “The target was always the Seer.”

“I was never the Herald,” Hellen answered, the anchor flaring to life. “I was saved by Divine Justinia. I am a tool against the Breach. I am the leader in the fight against Corypheus. I am the Inquisitor. Gwendolyn Murray is, and _has always been_ , our Herald.”

Gaspard gawked at me. I could feel my insides squirming as Hellen spoke, but I had no argument to voice. Justinia had saved Hellen, _Andraste_ had saved me.

“You have been found guilty by means of willing confession. Void take you.” Hellen flexed her arm and she opened a rift in the center of Gaspard’s chest. With a horrified scream, he imploded.

A handful of blood droplets hit the floor where the Grand Duke had once stood. The ballroom was silent.

Celene was the first to speak.

“Inquisitor Adaar, you have my most sincere apologies for this heinous attempt on the life of the Herald. Please accept my deepest gratitude for the quick justice you have dealt on this day.”

“Your Majesty, the Inquisition is sincerely remorseful that this matter could not have been remedied without bloodshed,” Josephine quickly stepped in to say. Hellen cut her off before she could go much further.

“Celene, do I have your pledge that this plot against the Herald went no deeper?”

There were a series of gasps around the room at the familiar form of address. Celene stepped forward and gripped the railing before her. She met Hellen’s stare. “I swear it.”

Hellen nodded. “Forgive me, your Majesty. Might my delegation be granted the continued use of Gaspard’s manse? It seems our host had ulterior motives in extending his hospitality.”

“By all means,” Celene granted with a bit more smile than what was probably proper.

“Thank you. I must beg your pardon, but we have wounded to see to. The Inquisition will retire for the evening.”

“I look forward to seeing you and your delegation again on the morrow. We will have need of your aid in sorting out the chaos caused by Gaspard’s sudden exile to the Void.”

Hellen dipped her head in a nod almost deep enough to be a bow. “We would be thrilled to continue to be of assistance.”

“My lady Herald,” Celene said as Hellen stepped back. My heart skipped a beat as Cullen gently released me and I stepped forward.

“Your Majesty?”

“I must beg your pardon, for not knowing to make your acquaintance earlier.”

The Empress was begging my pardon. Was I dreaming? “I am merely a servant to a will greater than my own, your Majesty. No pardon is necessary.”

“My court, I fear, will demand an answer. Are you the Herald of Blessed Andraste?”

I heard a chorus of “yes, say yes” hissed from various people around me.

“Your Majesty,” I answered after only a moment’s hesitation, “I have reason to believe I was selected by our lady Andraste to be saved from the sudden onset of war that marked the end of my world. The woman I met told me I was to come here, to Thedas, to a place where I might find purpose once more. If that means I am to be Her Herald, then yes. I do not pretend to know Her will, nor will I attempt to speak for Her. I know only that I was granted some knowledge of what is to come, and I intend to use that knowledge to help Hellen first in her fight against Corypheus, and then against the greater disorder that allowed him to fester unchecked. My life is meaningless without Hellen.”

It seemed to be a lot to chew on. Celene’s eyelashes fluttered for a moment before she said, simply, “Thank you.”

I curtsied to make Josephine proud and then stepped backwards into the pack of Inquisition. With a group bow to Celene, we turned on our heels and left the Winter Palace.

“She needs to _sleep_ ,” Hellen was telling Cullen as he led me right past the carriage and instead lifted me onto his horse. “I am fully aware of the situation, but she very nearly died, and the best thing for her right now is some genuine rest so she recovers her strength.”

“Do you think I would put anything above her health?” Cullen asked quietly.

Hellen’s jaw snapped shut. “You deserve each other. I hope you know that.”

Cullen paused as he lifted his foot to the stirrup. “Is that meant as an insult?”

Helen turned and headed towards the carriages. “No. But now that you mention it, yes. Fuck you both.”

“What did _I_ do?” I complained.

Hellen shook her head and handed Josephine into the carriage as Cullen swung up behind me. I leaned back against his chest as soon as he seemed to settle into place. He held the reins with his left hand and wrapped his right arm around my waist to hold me tightly against him.

“You scared her,” he answered as we waited for the rest of the group to be ready to return to the manse that used to be Gaspard’s. “You scared us all. You are the heart of this organization; without you we will falter if not outright fail. A threat to you is a threat to everything we stand for. She was rattled, and she may have pushed herself too hard as a result.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” I argued without putting much feeling behind it.

“She’s not known for being overly rational.”

“ _Fuck you both_ ,” her voice floated back to us through the darkness.

It was the last thing I remembered, as the steady sound of hooves on cobblestones and the warmth of Cullen’s arm around me lulled me to sleep.


	44. Halamshiral: Night Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just help me through this moment  
> After everything I told you  
> How the weight of their loss is like the weight of the sun.  
> I see their faces near me,  
> I hear their voices calling,  
> It's like their lives were over before they begun.  
> -ATE "Timeless"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set aside some time... this one is also just under 8K words. The rest of the Halamshiral chapters aren't _quite_ so lengthy.
> 
> We're going to get dark for a minute here, friends.  
> But I promise to end on a high note.
> 
> (mildly NSFW in the final sections)

I woke up far too warm. I was tangled up in Cullen, which was almost enough to explain the temperature. That he’d apparently put me to bed fully clothed, the layers of velvet and silk trapping far too much heat against my skin, served as the rest of the explanation.

“Ugh, let me up, I’m roasting,” I complained.

Cullen rolled away, instantly awake. “Are you alright? Feverish? You might have taken ill from the arrow wound-“

“I think it’s a classic case of too many clothes,” I answered, slipping out of bed and reaching up to slip loose the button at the top of the keyhole at the back of my neck. There were five buttons at the bottom of the keyhole, and as they came loose the entire dress slid off my shoulders to puddle on the floor. I stepped out of it, clad only in the backless black silk slip that went with the dress.

Cullen made a strangled sound behind me, but I was covered in sweat and grass stains. Hawke’s siphoning of my blood had left me far cleaner than I had any right to be, but I still felt utterly disgusting.

“I feel like I rolled in dust and rage,” I told Cullen, not looking back at him as I scooped up my dress and headed for the door. “Whatever you’re thinking, just hold onto it until I don’t feel disgusting anymore.”

He _did_ formulate an argument this time – the hastily voiced assertion that I was _anything_ but disgusting – but I made a beeline for the door nonetheless.

I paused before stepping into the hallway to see him – torn between amusement and dejection – sitting shirtless in the bed I had just vacated. The sight dried the snarky comment on my lips, and I caught myself staring. Cullen’s expression slowly shifted to smugness and then speculation.

“Maker, I’m a fool,” I breathed and then fled into the hall.

“What are you doing _here_?” Leliana asked, astonished, as she opened the door to my knock and I darted through.

“I need a bath. Desperately. He put me to bed fully clothed and I woke up a solid ball of sweat and I-“

“Say no more,” the Nightingale soothed as she led me over to the bathing chamber. “We’ll get you a bath and you can sooth your nerves and then everything else will be easy.”

I rolled my eyes as I sunk into the bath. “Whatever you say.”

She was right, as she usually was about this sort of thing.

Josephine sent for my uniform to be delivered to Leliana’s room so I wasn’t left to wander the halls in a towel. I went from Leliana’s room straight to Hellen’s for our morning meeting.

Brunch that morning proceeded much as it had the day before, although much of Hellen’s interest was focused on narrowing down the attack on me. How did we miss it? How did the archers find me? How did they get around the Inquisition positions? What could we have done differently, better, faster? How could we use this cockup to perfect our response before Celene is the target?

I was one of the last to arrive, and the only seat left available was between Sera and Hawke – again – although the two of them were far better behaved here than they were at the dinner table. Cullen was across the room from me, seated between Cassandra and Dorian. Dorian seemed to be starting trouble as normal, watching me as he spoke out of the side of his mouth to Cullen. Cullen seemed dispassionate, while Cassandra was turning a slowly deepening shade of red. I caught the Commander’s eye once, and the corner of his mouth twitched into a brief smile before we both turned our attention back to Hellen.

Our brunch meeting adjourned and I hung back with Hellen and Josephine while the room cleared, intending to ask about further dressing and mealtime arrangements. Cullen sidled up beside me, arguably for the same purpose.

“Plans for the afternoon?” he asked softly, his voice obscured by the noise of those departing the room.

I couldn’t help but blush at the implied offer, but I glanced over at him with every intention of _making_ plans for the afternoon with him. Before I could speak, a messenger in the livery of the Empress burst into the room.

“My lady Inquisitor,” the man called. “My lady Herald. Her royal majesty the Empress Celene requests your presence at a private dinner this evening.”

“A private dinner? On Satinalia? This is quite unheard of,” Josephine breathed, one hand fluttering to her chest in shock.

“Given the activity in the Palace yesterday,” Hellen replied immediately, “I am utterly uncomfortable with the lady Herald attending without more than merely myself for protection. Beg Celene’s pardon, but-“

“The invitation was to extend to your advisory council,” the messenger quickly amended. “The Empress encourages  Commander Cullen and Seeker Cassandra to attend under arms.”

“You cannot refuse that, Hellen,” Leliana advised.

Hellen glanced to Josephine and Cullen, who both solemnly nodded in turn. Hellen sighed. “Very well. Notify lady Pentaghast. Please, confer with Josephine about the nature of the arrangements before telling the Empress that the Inquisition will be honored to attend.”

Josephine wrung the messenger for information; who else was to attend? Where was the meal to be served? What service was expected to be used? What time were we to arrive, and how were we to be announced? How the poor man had everything she needed was beyond me, but it was less than five minutes before Josephine was storming down the hall, calling for Lytha to muster the small army of attendants.

“We will dress for the Ball and proceed straight there after dinner. We will enter with the Empress, a high honor if ever there was one. As such – Cullen, Hellen, Cassandra: wear your uniform but not your armor. Bring what armaments you can justify with formal attire, Cassandra will determine the standard as the person most versed in such arrangements. Gwen, Leliana, with me; we have precious little time to prepare."

“We have four hours!” I complained.

“We have an hour less than we need,” Josephine argued, and I shot an apologetic look at Cullen before following Josephine down the hall.

Dressing took a relatively short amount of time. What Josephine needed was to fill my head with every minute detail of the intricate dance that was a formal dinner with the Empress. Vivienne swept into the room as our hair was curled and pinned, and took over my lesson from Josephine.

“The easiest thing to remember is to follow Cassandra’s lead,” Vivienne advised. “Josephine may be too subtle for you to catch her nuance if she becomes distracted, while Cassandra follows the protocol with the precision of a soldier. Keeping your ears open and your eyes trained to Cassandra will not lead you astray.”

Much of what they said was the sort of thing I knew peripherally from high society in my own world. Table manners and courtesy were not so different here as they were back home. I might not catch on to the minutiae, but I did not think I would make any glaring errors.

We were swept into the carriages and taken down the road far quicker than I could have expected; the afternoon seemed to have flown by.

Malcolm was our footman again, and he held Cullen’s and Cassandra’s shields during the short trip. Cullen descended from the carriage first, arming himself as Cassandra stepped down. The Seeker strapped on her sword and shield as Hellen escaped the carriage, and then Cullen moved back to start handing down the women in skirts.

We were in green this day; apparently we had originally intended to wear blue on the third night of the Ball, but it was considered impolitic to wear the Empress’ favorite color in a private session with her, so the entire Inquisition was instead wearing kelly green with cream and gold accents.

I decided that all of Josephine’s dresses were the same general style, if of a different material and color. Leliana had a similar accepted style. Vivienne wore something different every night, and tonight I looked more like the First Enchanter than anyone else.

My dress was cut high again, with a stiff collar covering me up to my chin. A sweetheart cutout exposed my collarbones and the barest hint of cleavage below it, with a delicate border of cream lace separating the green velvet from my exposed skin. The pendant Dagna made me was framed almost perfectly within. My sleeves were less fitted than in the previous two dresses, allowing for a bit more movement; not much, but a _bit_. There was a wide sash cinching in my waist above a flared skirt with broad pleats, the cream colored velvet peeking out with every movement. My shoes were heavily influenced by Leliana again, however; they were cream colored leather, reaching to just below my knees and tied in such a way as to expose long strips of skin beneath the crossed laces. They would only be visible if I lifted my skirt when walking or if I sat improperly, but just knowing they were there was a secret confidence-builder for me. I tried not to dwell too long on what Cullen might think of them, when he inevitably saw them that night.

I did not have to wait long, as he caught sight of the lacing in the carriage, and again as he handed me down the steps. He lifted an eyebrow but, sadly, kept his comments to himself. I was walked on his right side this day, were I was used to walking on his left; his shield was strapped to his left arm above an unfamiliar brassy bracer. I noticed a pair of reinforced leather gloves tucked into his sword belt.

“Different bracers than normal?” I noted as we walked through the strangely empty halls of the Winter Palace. He seemed surprised I noticed.

“You’ve only seen me in formals,” he answered. “These are more functional. Josephine did not want Cassandra and I appearing for dinner with the Empress in armor, so we had to pick and choose. These will do me the most good if I lose my shield.”

“What does the rest of the set look like?”

Cullen twisted his mouth slightly before smoothing his expression clear. “I pray I never need put it on in your presence.”

The walk was over faster than I anticipated (likely because we weren’t continuously dodging nobles and were able to take the fastest route through each room) and we milled about outside Celene’s personal dining room for a moment, filing into the correct order to enter the room.

Hellen led the way in, as the highest ranking member of the Inquisition and direct recipient of the invitation. I was to enter second, although Cullen and Cassandra slipped into the room first and stood to either side of the door before I walked through. Leliana was next and Josephine last, the Ambassador being the most versed in what needed to be done and offering to direct us as we entered the room.

Josephine’s entire plan was shot straight to hell when I entered the room, saw the piano out of the corner of my right eye, and pulled a classic double-take.

It looked like it belonged, claiming one corner of the admittedly large room, but it was so glaringly out of place that I froze in my tracks and stared. Josephine hissed something behind me but I forgot all my instructions and stumbled across the room to the covered keys in a daze.

“No, please, let her do as she will,” I heard Celene’s voice call gently from somewhere off to my left. The wood was all wrong, the polish different and the colors skewed, but there was no mistaking the detailing and the curled script spelling out _Boston_ in English letters across the front. It was all wrong for a Boston; despite the foreign materials, this was clearly one of the Boston’s much more famous big brothers.

“Jesus Mary and Joseph, you have a Steinway,” I breathed. “How did you get a Steinway?”

“Common, Gwennie love,” Hellen called out gently, and I realized I was speaking in English.

I murmured my apologies as I sat down on the bench and exposed the ivories. They were definitely ivories; I didn’t know what creature might have provided it, but the whites had the pitted yellow imperfections that spoke of animal origins. The black keys looked to be polished obsidian. I danced my fingers across the keys, and felt goose bumps ripple down my arms. It was precisely tuned, as if it had only just been done.

“How is this possible?” I asked, spinning around on the bench towards my forgotten companions.

I was startled to find Celene standing beside the piano, one hand resting lightly upon it. “That is a story better suited for dinner. I assume you know how to play it?”

I nodded. “May I?”

“We would be devastated if you did not,” she replied. “I have never heard more than a clumsy striking of the keys.”

I turned back immediately, my hands poised over the keys as I struggled to decide what to play. In the end, old habits won out, and I played the song I had practiced tirelessly until I had it perfect for a recital in my youth and used as a warm-up forever after. With a glance back to see my party seating themselves around Celene’s table and turning to face me, I introduced Thedas to _Fur Elise_.

My fingers were stiff with lack of practice, but the muscle memory was strong and I was able to relax into the melody. I closed my eyes and let myself float through the memories of afterschool practices and evening performances. My electric keyboard at home had gotten far more love than I had expected it to, as playing on nights that I was home alone waiting for Patrick to return from visiting his parents had become my one of my favorite parts of the long work week.

I could remember my mother standing beside me as I played, chin on her hand as she happily hummed along. My brother had learned very little – just enough to play a couple silly duets with me when I was very young, to help encourage me as I was starting out. He had never missed one of my recitals, making it a point to come home from college even if he had to turn around and drive back that night for an exam the next morning. My father had wordlessly footed the bill and stood up in the back of the shadowed auditorium to take photos that inevitably turned out blurry.

I reached the end of the song as I knew it and paused with my hands above the keys for a moment before lifting them to press under my eyes and sweep away the tears that had gathered there. I was conscious of an almost oppressive silence in the room, and after a moment to catch my breath I spun on the bench to face the dinner party.

My view was a study in stunned silence. Hellen was turned completely around in her chair to face me, being seated on the end opposite of Celene; she was shaking her head slowly with her eyes gently closed. Josephine was opening weeping. Surprisingly, Leliana too had tears standing in her eyes. Cassandra was studiously staring at her empty plate, hiding the emotion I was sure was painted across her face. Cullen‘s face was impassive but his eyes wide, as if even he had his composure shaken. Celene, however, had a broad smile stretched across her features as she pushed up from her seat and extended a hand to me.

“Come, join us,” she said, gesturing for me to take the seat left empty between Cullen and Hellen, across the table from Cassandra. Josephine sat beside Cassandra, with an empty seat to her left between her and the Empress. Leliana was perched demurely on Celene’s left. If I recalled from the book I had read, long ago in Boston, Leliana was no stranger to Empress Celene.

“Thank you,” I breathed as I moved to the table and sat down. Cullen immediately twined his fingers through mine, in a move that was simultaneously calming and _not_. “It was a wonderful reminder of the world I once enjoyed.”

“You must play more while you are here,” Celene insisted. “As much as you can be convinced to.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, flustered as I was. “Of course, your Majesty. I must beg your pardon for forgetting my manners when I entered. I was taken aback by seeing a piano - a Steinway no less! – in your dining room.”

Celene motioned for dinner to be served, and the staff standing flat against the walls sprang forward. As dishes were placed and rearranged and beverages served, Celene made a gesture that seemed to imply a call back to an earlier conversation. I was surprised, as I should have been before, but her informality. “I said the story of how that _piano,_ as you call it, came to be would be better suited for dinner, but in truth I know very little of its origins. I can only tell you the story as I heard it, although after seeing you so clearly at home seated before it, I suspect you will have more insight into the story than I.

“It seems, some eighteen months ago, a man was found in the road outside Val Royeaux. He was filthy, half-crazed, and spoke wildly in a language no one could recognize. It took some weeks before he seemed to recover, and he largely quit speaking; I never met anyone who had actually heard the language of his birth. He kept extensive journals, however, so it was clear the words he had been speaking were _a language_ , even if one not recognized. After more than a month in Val Royeaux, he walked into an instrument shop in the market, took down a lute, and immediately played with the hands of a master. The shopkeeper sent him directly to the home of a nobleman known for a fondness of music, and the man played every night. Soon he was dressed and fed, and with increased health came what has been described as an obsession. He drew highly detailed sketches for a device unseen in the world. The nobleman was uncertain if this was genius or insanity, but decided the only way to determine was to fund the endeavor. The man – now known as Pennats – searched the marketplace for materials. Soon he was sending off for rare woods and stones in unusual quantities. About this time, word reached my court of the madman musician, and my cousin Florianne began to fund his work. He brought the materials here to the Winter Palace, nearly a year ago, and began to assemble what you called _a Steinway_. I met him around this time, and so absorbed was he in his work that he scarcely noticed me.

“It took months for him to finish, and he sat down upon the bench one night and played, and then adjusted something within the body of the instrument, alternating, only a few notes at a time, for _days_. Then he stretched out under it and slept. His journals were put into a crate and shipped – at the time we did not know where – and he seemed content with his lot. He only played the piano when there was no one around to hear him, but the servants, my lady… the servants always hear.

“Word reached us, then, of _you_ , of the moving of the Inquisition from Haven to a secret fortress deep in the Frostbacks at the behest of an elven apostate and a strange woman from the future, and we immediately wondered if that was not what this Pennats was, as well. I called him to me for questioning, knowing that he had learned enough of our language to perhaps shed more light on his origins, now that he was safe and hale.

“The morning this attempt was to begin, Pennats was found dead in his chambers. His throat was slashed, the wound poisoned.”

The sudden chilling ending to her story caught me with my spoon halfway to my mouth. I hastily lowered it and fought a moment for composure.

“His journals, your Majesty,” Josephine asked, quicker on her feet than I. “What became of his journals?”

“He shipped them to himself,” Celene said, with an air of almost fondness in her tone. “He paid one of the servants an exorbitant fee to merely take the crate on a bit of a tour and return after a month or two. When they arrived – some weeks after his death – I immediately had them secured in my personal vault.”

“Might I…” I stopped myself, briefly pressing both hands to my face out of anxiety. “Your Majesty, is there any way I could-“

“I have one of them here,” she answered before I could find a way to ask. “I had it fetched when I saw your reaction. If it is of any use to you at all, I will happily send the rest of his belongings to your manse here at Halamshiral, or even on to Skyhold if it suits you.”

She gestured to a servant to carry the book down the table to me, and I found myself on my feet, hands trembling with eagerness.

I flipped open the cover, again blind to my surroundings and the reactions of my friends.

It was written in English.

“Oh,” I heard myself say, nearly a sob, as I dropped back to my seat. “Oh, no.”

“What?” Josephine asked, leaning forward out of concern. “What is wrong?”

I could only shake my head as I read.

“Who was he?” Hellen asked, following the motion of my eyes and knowing I was scouring the text.

“He…” I fought back the urge to vomit up the rich food Celene had ordered prepared in our honor. “He was sent here to help _me_.”

 

*

 

Celene had immediately picked up on my distress, and had me taken to an adjoining chamber and laid out on a fainting couch. She let me keep the journal, though.

His name was Michael Dupree, and he was a pianist. Not just a pianist, but a piano _enthusiast_. He had started out with lessons and recitals in his youth, as I had, but instead of encouraging a love of music it had fostered a lifelong obsession. He tutored other students while studying music theory, then abandoned that in favor of becoming a piano tuner. Ten years later, he went to work for Steinway and learned how to craft the instruments by hand. Any parts the company machined, he learned how to create himself. He admitted to having an almost-perfect replica Steinway in his basement, created entirely by his own hands.

The man was a genius.

And he was dead.

He had left home the same terrible day I had. He had been in Connecticut at the time, visiting family, and had defied their reasoning and pleas to stay put. He had gotten in his car and started driving to Boston, if only to get independent confirmation of the events. He held out hope that his home, some distance to the west, might had escaped the worst of the damage. He got bogged down in traffic, and then everything came to a standstill. People abandoned their vehicles. Not knowing what else to do, Michael locked the doors and stayed put, hoping a solution would present itself. It was nightfall when a blond woman had opened up his car door and asked him to help her save a woman named Gwen.

“She is lost,” he quoted her as saying. “She is broken and adrift. You can give her a piece of yourself, a piece of your home, and help her find her place here. Your art could help her save another world from this chaos.”

He had agreed out of fear and confusion more than anything else, and then with a flash of blue he was laying in a mud puddle in what he thought was medieval Europe.

…except nobody spoke anything even vaguely resembling English.

Isolated and terrified, he had insisted – over and over – that he was only a pianist. He didn’t know what they wanted from him.

They had mistook it for his name, and their accent twisted the word until “Pennats” was how everyone referred to him.

He had picked up on the language, slower than I had, but quickly enough to recognize that he wasn’t in his own world anymore. He gravitated back to the message from the mysterious blond on the side of the road, and did the only thing he could think to do: create a piano.

He understood enough of the Kingspeak to pick out the news that a woman named Gwen had led the Inquisition to Skyhold, and he made a mistake.

He asked Grand Duchess Florianne, his new benefactor, to help him get in contact with the woman in Skyhold, the mysterious Seer. He thought he was from the same world as her, and maybe he could help her.

He didn’t seem to have any inkling that the world we were in was represented by a popular video game back home. He was completely adrift. He had made few friends and fewer allies, although his journal indicated the servants, at least, had liked him and treated him well.

“I only play for them,” he wrote. “Fuck the rest of these smug pricks.”

Florianne had, apparently, told Gaspard of the pianist’s request, and Gaspard had found Michael and interrogated him for hours about _what the Seer might know_.

“He’s going to kill me,” Michael wrote. “I do not know if I did as the woman bid, if I managed to help Gwen at all. If she is the Seeress in this Inquisition everyone speaks of, she is doing a damn sight better than me. I can only hope that my masterpiece in Celene’s study is able to help her. It’s not a Boston, but I want her to look down as she plays and see that gilded reminder of home. It is the only thing that gives me peace.”

The meal was long since ended when I wearily returned to the dining room.

Celene rose to her feet. “Have you solved our mystery?”

I nodded and moved to my seat. Cullen immediately rose and held the chair for me, as Celene indicated we should all be seated.

In terse, tired sentences, I summarized Michael Dupree’s journal.

“He died alone and confused,” I concluded. “His fate could have too easily been my own, had I not been placed somewhere with people who spoke Qunlat.”

“His masterpiece, then,” Celene said, drawing a completely different conclusion from the story, “it was meant for you. You must have it.”

I shook my head. “Thank you, your Majesty, but transporting a piano through the Frostbacks in winter-“

“Is a challenge Dagna is sure to rise to,” Hellen cut me off.

I felt my jaw click shut at the clear command in Hellen’s tone. “Of course, Inquisitor,” I agreed mildly.

“This, then, is something that need be explained further,” Celene laughed, indicating my relationship with Hellen. Before anyone could reply – or deny – the bell began to toll for the beginning of the ball. “Alas!” the Empress sighed dramatically. “It must be postponed for another time.”

Celene waved for one of her attendants to bring her mask, at which point I realized she'd been entertaining us without it. Surely it was some kind of unheard of honor? Josephine produced my mask as well as her own, while Leliana had already set hers in place. Rather than the full-face black confection I had been wearing, my new mask covered only my eyes. It was green velvet to match my dress, and thinly lined with cream silk. I fumbled for only a second before Cullen reached over and deftly fastened it in place.

“Are you well?” he asked as we were swept from the room and lined up to enter the ballroom with Celene.

“I am deeply saddened,” I answered carefully. “I wish I could have helped Michael. He never understood why he was here.”

“Are there more, do you think?”

I had to consider it for a moment. “I could believe She sent only one. Can I believe She would send someone specifically to help me, and have it be in such an obtuse way, and not send any others? No. No, that makes no sense. I assume there are many of us, and apparently not all of us played the game. Is it possible that, of all of us, only Michael and I survived to be noted? Yes. It is soul-crushing to consider, but it is possible that She only had so much control over what happened to us once we arrived here, and many of us did not make it.”

“Leliana could help,” Cullen suggested, and I immediately nodded.

“Leliana would be able to find out. He arrived long before I did, but I left Earth before him. It is possible She took someone from that last Friday and sent them ten or fifteen years into the past – or future. There might be people sent here to help me that had died happily of old age before the Fifth Blight even began.”

“She will have her work cut out for her, then.” Cullen’s tone allowed for no doubting of Leliana’s abilities.

“Maybe Brother Genetivi is looking for a new project.”

Cullen shot me the briefest of grins before composing himself once more. “Did you work your way through his book? Or were you distracted by Cassandra’s… lighter fare?”

I tried to stifle my laugh and managed a very unladylike snort instead. Josephine gave me a quick glare over her shoulder. “Distracted, for sure. But not nearly enough.”

“Meaning?”

“I was distracted from his book but not from the one who gifted it to me. _That one_ yet occupies nearly my every waking thought.”

“And you wish to forget him?” he teased.

“Quite the opposite,” I replied loftily.

“ _Will_ you two _please_ just _get a room_ and get it _over with_?” Hellen hissed from behind us.

“Might we take that as an order, Inquisitor?” Cullen asked mildly.

Hellen replied with a long string of Qunlat curses under her breath.

“Hellen seems to be on edge,” I observed to the Commander.

“Fucking Orlesians,” Hellen replied, before falling silent under another withering glare from Josie.

We arrived in the grand ballroom on Celene’s heels, and stood in a loose semi-circle around her as she called for this night's festivities to begin. We had dispersed by the time the rest of the Inquisition had arrived, although the green of their clothes this evening blended more readily into the crowd. Cullen and I made our way to the high-top table in the corner, noticing a little sign perched atop that read _Reserved for the Inquisition_ between two glasses of champagne. We disregarded the champagne immediately; by now we had heard enough rumors about what Sera was doing to the liquor to wait until our Red Jenny declared something safe for consumption.

Cullen turned to say something to me, but it was lost in Dorian’s arrival at my side.

“You. Me. Dancing. Go.” His hand was wrapped around my elbow and I was swept away before I could attempt a response. I caught Cullen’s eyes on my way down the stairs to the dance floor, and he was plainly planning Dorian’s death.

“I will apologize to your Commander later,” Dorian murmured as he swung me into the paces of a dance already begun. “I was caught in the most _infuriating_ display of pandering… the man actually had the testicular fortitude to announce that the Black Divine was the only Divine in the world at the time, and thus could be considered the only true agent of the Maker’s Will.”

I felt my eyebrows rise, the fine hairs catching on the velvet of my mask. “An Orlesian? Supporting the Black Divine.”

Dorian scoffed. “He will insist tomorrow that he never said it. It was immediately followed by a thorough description of his daughter’s positive attributes.”

“Ugh,” I empathized. “You can’t escape it, can you?”

“No,” Dorian said as the dance drew our faces together. “No, I cannot.”

“I love you precisely as you are, Dorian.”

His expression softened a bit. “Hellen said the same.”

“Because Hellen is brilliant.”

He managed a smile, and I let him lose himself in the forms of the dance.

There was a pause as one dance ended and the next began, ostensibly so dancers could clear the floor. I knew it more likely the musicians needed a moment to take a drink and stretch their fingers. When the next set started, Dorian pulled me into his arms for something that looked a lot like a waltz.

I knew fuck-all about dancing back home, but _waltz_ sounded fitting.

“So tell me where things stand with you and… our mutual crush.” We were on a dance floor; anyone could have heard us. But the way he asked told me he was doing more than spreading gossip.

“Tense,” I answered.

“Tense in a good way?”

“Tense in a continually interrupted way.”

Dorian coughed a laugh. “What did I sweep you away from?”

“I don’t know,” I gritted, putting as much humor into my voice as I could.

Dorian caught my mood and laughed, more freely this time. “Darling, you have the _sword of mercy_ dangling between your breasts. With that pleasant reminder, I am _quite sure_ of the direction any conversation between you could lead.”

“Dorian! That was… almost obscene.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a complim-“

“Are you still waiting?”

He could have said _mourning_ and the question would have been the same. I shook my head.

“So the problem is…?

“Dinner with the Empress!” I answered grandly. “Dancing with my dear friend! Getting _shot in the back_.”

Dorian grimaced. “Point conceded.”

“I honestly think we just need everybody else to _leave us alone_.” I sighed.

Dorian’s eyes flashed. “That can be arranged.”

"Arranged?" I laughed.

"Darling, when you spawn a troop of curly-haired little hooligans, you are going to name one after me for all the work I've done."

"Oh?" It did not seem to be the moment to tell Dorian there wouldn't  _be_ a troop of hooligans, so I pursued the second half of the statement instead. "And what work was that?"

"I will have you know I spent  _weeks_ slipping descriptors of you into our conversations. How you slept, the dimples on your back, the way your hair curls when it's damp-"

"Dorian!" I gasped. "You did _not_!"

"I did so. I stood next to that fire and I fanned for all I was worth. _Somebody_ is going to trip that man into bed, and if it’s not me it sure as shit is going to be you." He spun me out and away from him as the dance slowed to an end, and then dragged me back against his chest and dipped me over backwards. When he stood me upright again, he kissed me lightly on the cheek. “Be yourself, darling. Leave the rest to me.”

“What?”

He grinned , and then lightly turned me away.

Hawke was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with his eagerness to get me away from Dorian. “Save me save me save me,” he whispered as I switched partners and was immediately swept back into the press of dancers.

“It would be my pleasure, sirrah,” I declared haughtily. “From whence do I deliver thee?”

“I don’t think that’s the proper use of _whence_ ,” he frowned.

“I’m not a native speaker. What are you running from?”

“I walked right into some badness on the balcony. Hellen was talking with some bitchy brunette, and I attempted to interrupt when I realized the new chick was an apostate. Apparently she’s Celene’s court occult adviser or some bullshit. She and Hellen were having a pissing match and that is _nowhere_ for a Hawke to stand.”

“You could take her,” I counseled.

“Because of course you know who she is.”

“Her name is Morrigan, she traveled with the Hero of Ferelden, and she’s Flemeth’s biological daughter.”

“She’s a Witch of the Wilds?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“’Tis!” I confirmed.

“Specialty?”

“Shapeshifter, most likely.”

Garrett grunted. “Those are usually weirdoes.”

“Well, look at her role model.”

“True.”

“She has an eluvian,” I warned, and Hawke stiffened. If I hadn’t been dancing with him I would never have noticed.

“You’ve mentioned them before.  Why do they keep coming up?”

“They’re about to change the world,” I confided.

Hawke’s eyes widened almost comically. “Did you really just let me in on one of your big crazy secrets?”

“I do it for Hellen all the time,” I sniffed. “It’s not a big deal any more.”

“I’m a special as Hellen,” he said, forcing faux awe into his voice and faking an overdramatic sniffle.

“You’re terrible,” I laughed.

“You’re done with me,” he countered, as the music drew to an end and the dancers around us paused.

“Am I?”

Hawke nodded and spun me gently to face away from him.

Cullen was standing beside us on the floor.

“My lady?” he asked, one hand extended in an invitation.

My heart dropped to my shoes. The dancers started up again around us, and Hawke had utterly vanished. I realized I was standing with my hands crossed over the hollow of my throat. Cullen’s carefully neutral expression quirked into a smile. “My lady, please?”

I quickly reached out and took his hand, hasty in an attempt to make up for my hesitation.

“I… I did not think you danced. You never took lessons with Josephine.”

He pulled me against him – this dance was the slowest yet – and stepped into the flow of the dancers around us. Cullen could _definitely_ dance. He wasn’t as fluid or comfortable as Dorian, but then again, he wouldn’t be. He was a soldier, a military leader, and not a member of the aristocracy.

“Why would you think that?” he asked mildly.

“Common knowledge?”

He shook his head slightly, breathing an inaudible laugh. “The things you get wrong never cease to astound me. The templar order was a member of the Chantry but _not_. I have never heard of a military order than did not feast on pomp and circumstance.”

“But… you don’t like… you said you…”

“Just because I do not appreciate Politics,” he said as we swept thru a rather complicated pattern of steps, “does not mean I cannot keep with the forms.”

“Oh,” I breathed.

“Is this why you have not asked me to dance?”

I nodded. “I rather thought… you would ask _me_ , if it was something that interested you.”

“I was trying to, when Dorian absconded with you.”

“Fucking _Dorian_ ,” I spat, and Cullen nearly missed a step as he laughed. Nearly – but did not.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” I asked a moment later, although my heart wasn’t into it.

Cullen smiled again. “I am.”

“Oh?”

“I was asked to help create a diversion,” he told me.

I felt my heart sink.

“And the very first thing I could think of,” he continued as if the admission that he was only dancing with me out of an occupational obligation wasn’t utterly heartbreaking, “was to take it as permission to do something I rather wanted to do _anyway_ , and apologize for an oversight I committed yesterday.”

“Which was?”

He was silent for a moment, and I could hear the song coming to an end. We took a slight change in trajectory, then, and when the last bars were fading we were standing alone in the middle of the dance floor, ringed by everyone else who had been dancing in a circle around the edge. He positioned me directly under a beam of light, and released me to step back and then fall to one knee.

I could not breathe.

“I should have said this sooner,” he declared, and the entire hall fell silent. “Gwendolyn Rhiannon Murray, I am in love with you.”

The only answer I could make was his name, and I nearly sobbed, “ _Cullen_ ,” as I crossed the distance to him and cupped his face with my hands. He remained on one knee, although I felt his hands rise up to rest on my waist.

He was waiting for something – this was a _diversion_ , after all – and I had enough time to collect myself and actually answer. “You did not have to tell me,” I told him, knowing my voice was ringing across the hall. “I’ve always known.”

He stood as the crowd burst into applause, and wrapped his arms around me for a chaste kiss.

The music started again, only slightly faster this time, and he spun me back into step with the others. I couldn’t help but notice there was a _bubble_ around us, as if the rest of the people on the floor were eager to not conceal us from view.

“Now what?” I asked, conscious of a very deep blush spread across my face.

“We keep their attention,” he counseled, his voice so low I could feel it more through my ribs where our chests were pressed together than what registered in my ears. “Everyone wants me to kiss you again-“

“Myself included,” I admitted, utterly unable to break his gaze.

His smile was enough to reduce a girl to a puddle of goo on the floor. “Oh, fear not. It will happen.”

I tried to coax my heart out of my throat with a thick swallow, and was utterly ineffectual.

“As I was saying, all eyes are on us now. The longer we drag this out, the more time Hellen has to... investigate... and the larger our reward.”

“Reward?”

“Hellen promised me an hour alone with you for every minute I can keep attention glued to us.”

I was on fire. That was the only reasonable explanation. Someone had lit my skin on fire and I was going to slowly immolate right there on the ball room floor. I even glanced at my hand on his shoulder to be sure I wasn’t engulfed in flame.

“If you could see your face right now…” Cullen whispered. “Maker’s breath, the things I want to do with you.”

“An hour for every minute, you said?” I whispered weakly.

He nodded.

I shyly bit my bottom lip. “Dorian said… said that my pendant from Dagna is giving you ideas.”

“Oh?”

I nodded. “He said it was impossible that you wouldn’t notice the sword of mercy between my breasts.”

Cullen actually staggered. He recovered instantly, but with a great deal more color in his face. The hall erupted into whispers.

He closed his eyes gently and took a deep breath. “He is not wrong.”

Yep, definitely on fire.

He spun me away from him, my hand gripped in his, and when I was spun back he crushed me against him. He was no longer leading by gentle suggestion; my legs were pressed against his, our bodies in contact from my ankle to my shoulder. My dress flared out behind me, as it no longer had any room in the front. The whispers grew more feverish.

“Patrick used to accuse me of cheating on him with you,” I admitted, some time later once I’d (somewhat) caught my breath. I hadn’t ever meant to tell him, but this seemed to be the moment for heartfelt confessions. Cullen’s breath ran ragged. “It was meant in jest, because of course you weren’t _real_ , but it was the very first thing I thought when I met you. I _desperately_ wished everything was a dream, because then everything I wanted to do was _allowed_.”

I could feel the shake in his hand now. His face was a glorious wreck.

“I knew I wasn’t dreaming when I realized we spoke different languages, right there in Haven. If it was a dream, I _definitely_ would have been able to talk to you.”

“And what…” he whispered brokenly, desperate to take back some control. “What would you have said?”

“I didn’t know you, not really,” I answered. He frowned, focusing on my words to try to keep up with my thoughts. “I didn’t love _you_ yet, just the idea of you, just the weak replica I was shown. The man I know now, the man who became my friend and confidante and greatest supporter… I love him a thousand times more than the shadow I’d been shown before. And, that said…”

He pulled me, somehow, closer; I was able to say my next words almost directly into his ear.

“Some nights, when I was with him, I imagined I was with you.”

Cullen stumbled to a halt. “You did not just say that.”

“I did, and it is the truth. You were the best sort of fantasy-“

Anything else I might have said was forgotten as his mouth came crashing down on mine.

The dance kept swirling around us. The room went utterly silent behind the ever-present orchestra, and then _erupted_ into wild applause. I was only aware of Cullen; his lips on mine – scalding hot, dry, _needy_ – his hands on my back and hip crushing us together, my hands curled on his shoulder and neck, the long line of his hard body pressed against mine.

He stepped away – staggered, really – and bent briefly to sweep an arm under my knees and lift me easily into the air.

The dancers parted for us, and Cullen carried me off the floor.

Hellen was waiting at the top of the stairs, blocking our path. Cullen slowed but did not stop. With a look of _intense_ amusement, Hellen stepped to the side. “See you tomorrow afternoon,” she enunciated clearly.

 

*

 

We stood at the window, some four hours later, and watched as two carriages pulled back into the courtyard, depositing our friends onto our doorstep. I was confident we couldn’t be seen, as the torches were concentrated in the yard and our room was in darkness; the thick glass in the windows would cast back the light. I leaned into Cullen, drawing heat and comfort from his chest against my back, and I pulled the blanket closer around us. It wasn’t quite big enough to cover us both, but given we had nothing else on, we were making it work.

“I have never been one to share,” he confessed, his lips pressed into the hair behind my ear.

“Who says you have to share?” I laughed.

“You will go to Hellen’s room in the morning,” he answered. “You will bathe with Leliana and you will dress with Josephine. You will come down those stairs tomorrow evening with Vivienne and you will dance with Dorian or Garrett or Maker knows who else. And that is only tomorrow… so many people have a claim on you, and I want you only to myself.”

“There is a part of me that is strictly yours,” I reassured him. “Just as I hope I have laid a claim on a part of you I never have to share. You are a Commander, a brother, an uncle, a friend. You have a family, and a place here that I am only just beginning to find the equivalent of.”

“What part of me did you want to lay a claim to?” he asked with a speculative sort of smirk.

I pinned the blanket with one hand to drop my other down to his thigh. “Aside from the obvious?” I used our shared laughter to decide how to phrase my next words. “You have always defended me, protected me. You have sought to respect my wishes, even when you weren’t sure what they were, and I have always – _always_ – felt safe at your side. I cannot claim that _strictly_ for myself, because it is something you do for everyone... but deep down you will always be my chosen defender.”

“You mean to say, I get first rights to worrying over you,” he sniffed.

“For as long as you want them,” I answered.

“Forever might be enough,” he replied a moment later, and then he spun me around in his arms to face him and lifted me gently off my feet. Our blanket fell, forgotten, to the floor as he carried me back to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next four chapters of Halamshiral are approximately 5K, 6K, 5K, and 7.5K words in length, respectively.  
> As proud as I am that my story has THIS much support and positive criticism with zero smut in 175K words... I realize I might be killed for fading to black.  
> That said, if you would like the NSFW version of this night, I have it posted on the second installment of this series, [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5521874/chapters/13158460). It is, however, completely unnecessary from a plot-perspective to read it, which is why I have it posted separately.


	45. Halamshiral: Night Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beginning is also somewhat NSFW. Be forewarned.

Cullen had stirred up the fire in the hearth again just before daybreak, and I stretched out between him and the gently popping flames and watched the black sky slowly melt into twilight and then on to the fiery rays of dawn. He tugged a blanket up over us, and mentioned – for perhaps the third time – that he really ought to have brought some pillows over when we’d migrated to the fire from the bed.

“You are the best pillow,” I argued, and snuggled against his shoulder.

I expected another teasing sort of argument, but I got silence in return. After a long moment I craned my neck a bit to look up at his face. “What’s wrong?”

He looked as if he didn’t want to answer, but after a moment asked softly, “Am I wrong to worry?”

“Worry about what?”

“Us.”

“What about us?”

He sighed, and it sounded like frustration. “I don’t know.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I reminded him gently. 

“That’s just it,” he sighed again. “Are you really _not going anywhere_?’

“Yes. You hid my clothes, remember?”

He snorted a laugh, but it was almost devoid of humor. “I didn’t mean right now.”

“I can’t go back to Earth,” I told him, catching the mood of his inquiry. “And if I could… I wouldn’t. By now, my family thinks me dead. They might not even be alive still – I have no idea what happened. I have literally _nowhere_ else I can go. This world isn’t safe for me – just look at what happened to poor Michael the pianist. And all of that assumes I would _want_ to go someplace, and I don’t. I have everything I could possibly want in Skyhold. I have ways to expand my mind and people who love me and places I can hide that are _warm_.”

Cullen’s arm tightened around my shoulder, but he otherwise made no response.

“But you’re not talking about the literal _going anywhere_ , are you?”

“No,” he replied.

“Hellen could fail,” I confessed. “You could fall. I have _no idea_ what my own future is, as I didn’t exist in the story I was told. I could have died here this week. I still might. I can’t promise you forever, Cullen, because I don’t know what forever means. I can tell you I don’t want anyone else. I can tell you I want _this_ to go on for as long as possible. I can tell you that I love you, that I’ve loved you for a ridiculously long time, and I have wanted this night with you for far longer than I should admit. And I can promise you I’m not going to try to make us go back to the way things were. _This_ is us now. Glasses of wine on the floor at dawn watching the sun come up because you wanted to see the firelight on my skin... writing apologies to the household staff because I _know_ they heard me last night… preparing to get harassed by the Chargers keeping watch in the hallway for the same reason.”

He laughed then, which was my hope. I kicked my left leg out and over him, sliding across his abdomen to hover above him on my hands and knees. “This is us now. Does that address your anxiety?”

“It does,” he breathed, reaching up to thread his fingers through my hair.

“Any other worries?”

“I will feel guilty for kicking Cole out every night,” he quipped.

“He’s discrete,” I insisted. I planned to make a sock-on-the-doorknob joke, but he dragged my lips down to meet his and there was no room in my thoughts for anything but Cullen and this impossibly perfect dawn.

 

*

 

 

“And how are you doing this lovely afternoon?” Hellen asked as I stumbled into her room well after the brunch meeting had ended.

I collapsed into one of her overstuffed armchairs. “I fucking _love_ Orlais,” I answered.

“Mmm,” Hellen said, turning back to the report in her hands. “You’re welcome. Have you had breakfast?”

“Yes. Dorian had trays brought to the room and left. Bless him.”

“I don’t know how we can top your performance last night,” she said, and for a moment my mind went a completely different direction than hers. “But I wanted to ask you to create another distraction for me this evening. I managed to sneak away for nearly half an hour, all told, and nobody ever noticed I was gone. I know where I need to go tonight, and I know how to get Sera into that hallway, but I’m going to need some time.”

I thought about it for awhile. “I’ll keep my eyes open. Cullen and I on the dance floor isn’t going to cut it again, I don’t think.”

“No, but you should absolutely dance with him more,” Hellen said, finally giving in to the impulse to gossip with me, tossing her paperwork aside to clap her hands to her chin. “You two looked _amazing_ together. And the chances to just _be together_ at an event like this are so rare…”

“You need to ask someone to dance, as well,” I told her pointedly, and she blushed.

“I wouldn’t want to draw attention to her – to us – like that.”

“I don’t think this is about you,” I advised.

Her lips thinned to a narrow line. “You’re probably right.”

“I’m damn near always right,” I scoffed, and she laughed.

“Blue tonight,” she told me, standing up and moving towards the door. “You’re welcome. You’ve got just enough time to spill your guts to Leliana and Josephine in the bath before it will be time to get dressed and go.”

“I’m welcome?” I laughed, allowing her to usher me out. “What am I thanking you for?”

“Blue,” she answered, and shut the door with a wink.

I did not have quite enough time, as it was. Leliana pounced on me the instant Josephine answered the door to her room, dragging me across to the tubs. I shrugged out of the dress I’d haphazardly tugged on that morning – the brown one Josie had given me when they’d given me control of the infirmary – and stepped immediately into the tub of water. I could _feel_ their eyes on me, scouring me for evidence.

“I didn’t see any marks,” Josie said softly. Leliana shook her head, adding her own denial to the Ambassador’s.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I sighed, and dragged my hair away from my collar bone to reveal the delicately shaded smudge left by Cullen’s mouth. “Here, he got me right here. Are you happy now?”

Josephine made the single most ridiculous sound I have ever heard uttered by a grown woman, and pressed her hands to her mouth.

“We didn’t hear _anything_ ,” Leliana confided. I couldn’t tell if the look on her face was congratulatory or accusing.

“Well,” I sighed, leaning back into the steaming water. “We were here a long time before you got back.”

Josephine made another unfathomable sound and pitched herself into an upholstered chair. She started fanning her eyes as if to dry as-yet-contained tears.

“Is she okay?” I asked Leliana, tipping my head to indicate Josephine.

Leliana grunted. “She was convinced you and the Commander were never going to actually get together. As far as we can tell, you never even kissed him until the day before yesterday.”

I nodded. “Accurate.”

“And?”

“Are you really asking me to kiss and tell?” I countered.

“Yes,” Leliana answered, almost offended. “Yes, _of course I am_.”

I laughed. “No.”

“Please.”

I laughed harder. “No!”

“You have to give Josephine _something_ ,” Leliana insisted, indicating her stricken friend. “If she doesn’t have your previously-unrequited love to focus on, she’ll immolate from acute romantic absence.”

“Maker’s earlobes, you sound like Dorian. Fine. Fine!” I capitulated, and Josie rocketed out of the chair, dashing to Leliana’s side for whatever gossip I was willing to relate.

“You get _one question_ , Josephine. And it is _Josephine’s_ question, not yours, Leliana.”

Leliana pursed her lips and made a show of looking away.

Josephine didn’t need Leliana’s input. “He told you he loved you in the middle of the dance as a diversion,” she quickly reminded me. “Was it just a diversion? Or is it real? Are you both in love?”

My mind skittered back to breathy confessions as the sun rose, clad only in his embrace and a shared blanket, looking out the window on what felt like an impossible dawn. I closed my eyes and smiled. “Yes,” I answered her. “Yes, we are very much in love.”

Josephine collapsed to the floor with a _whump_ , clutching the side of the tub with dewy eyes. “How do you know? What did he say?”

“I said one question, Josie,” I laughed. “Hellen said we’re wearing blue today, and that I apparently owed her some gratitude for it.”

Their eyes widened comically. “Oh, I _forgot_ about your blue dress!” Leliana cooed. “Ooooh, his eyes are going to fall out of his head, this is _perfect_.”

It was a long time before we were all washed and pinned and painted and prepared. My slip for the night didn’t cover my top half at all, but instead was a heavy layered petticoat that cinched around my waist and dragged on the floor. I surmised there were some serious heels in my future.

The dress was incredible, in silk tonight instead of velvet, and in a blue so rich as to better be called midnight. The sweetheart neckline was back, although this time it was completely devoid of a collar, and it scalloped around my back, hovering just below my shoulder blades. Rather than exposing all of that skin, however, everything above the neckline of the dress was nearly sheer, shimmering blue lace. The lace covered my shoulders – arguably – and then formed sleeves that ended precisely at the bones of my wrist. The whole thing could have been wadded up into something the size of a softball, and it _clung_ to me like a second skin. It would have clung to my legs with every step, rendering me functionally naked, if not for the sturdy petticoat. The bust was reinforced, thank god, because otherwise there was no staying in it. I was laced in at the back, and then a placard of buttons was used to reinforce and cover the lacings. My pendant from Dagna was almost hidden beneath the lace; when I wasn’t in a literal spotlight it would be invisible.

The shoes were a work of art. The heels were sculpted, twisting strands of midnight-blue leather, hardened by some trick of resin and industry. The leather extended some distance up the heel, and created several woven straps to hold my feet in place and protect my toes. Aside from that, the shoes were the same shimmering lace that made up the bodice of my dress. I loved them instantly and utterly.

I was surprised to realize my dress was most similar to Josephine’s. Her skirt was more ruffled – Varric would love that – and her bodice and sleeves were opaque, but aside from that the styling was the same. The midnight silk was absolutely identical.

“Let us not forget,” Leliana said, the color resplendent on her, “that we are here to stop an assassination. We all have our roles.”

The three of us nodded. As one, we slid on our masks. They were nearly identical tonight; layer upon layer of the shimmering blue silk that covered little more than our noses and eyes, sweeping up and back to wrap around our ears and drop into a cascade of silver teardrops and priceless sapphires. My hair had been curled and pinned back, tumbling down my back but held away from my mask and face.

Vivienne normally led us down, but tonight I was pushed the front, and took the stairs to the courtyard first.

Cullen, wearing the Inquisition uniform, although tonight a rich blue to complement our dresses, would have seemed utterly unaffected by my appearance if I hadn’t known what to look for. The secret was not in his face, or in his posture… but rather in the sudden clenching of one fist.

“My lady,” he greeted me, extending a hand to me. I took it, and he carefully wrapped my arm around his before leading me out to the carriages.

“Maker, it’s cold,” I gasped.

“Perhaps because you’re rather naked on the top half,” he suggested mildly. There was something hard and steely in his voice, and it took me a moment to place it. I didn’t have a chance to question him, as I was rather hurried to the carriage and lifted inside; the weather had seemed to recall it was winter, and the air had turned bitter once again.

I was back on his arm and being swept into the Ball before I had a chance to inquire, “is the steel in your tone from the desire to keep this skin to yourself, or rather a diversion from the image of what this silk will look like in a puddle on your floor tonight?”

“Both,” he gritted. “And the despair that I will be able to help Hellen with our mission with you looking like _that_.”

“Fear not, my love,” I reassured him airily. “I have been tasked with my own mission for the evening. I am not yours to fret over.”

“You will always be mine to fret over,” he corrected me gently, “if you recall your promise from this morning.”

“You’re right,” I said with a smile, trying to put the memory in my voice, since the mask obstructed his view of my eyes.

“Did you have a plan for your _diversion_?” he asked, clearly eager to change the subject. He was going to have a hard enough time concentrating as it was.

“Not a damn clue,” I answered honestly.

We were laughing, then, simply happy in one another’s company, when we turned the corner in the ballroom and caught sight of a gathering in the adjoining parlor.

I stopped short. “Nevermind,” I told Cullen. “I just figured it out.”

“I’ll get some archers in position,” he told me, and slipped away.

“Forgive me,” I said, carefully making my way through the shoulder-to-shoulder nobility blocking the path. “Excuse me. I’m so sorry. Pardon me.” After the fifth or sixth apology, my path started to clear, and I made it to the center of the milieu.

The grand piano had been moved and now was sitting on a short dais in the parlor, with a note carefully laid upon the closed fallboard. In exceedingly elegant script, the note simply read: _for lady Gwendolyn, Seeress_.

Here, then, was the answer. I could do something _literally no one had ever heard before_. Easy enough. I lifted the card and laid it to the side, opening the fall and adjusting the bench.

I was out of practice – horribly so – but no one had any fore knowledge of the song choices I might make. No one would know if I skipped a section or simplified a complicated passage. All I had to do was stay in the proper key, and I could make it up as I went.

With remarkably little trepidation, I settled myself on the bench, flexed my fingers, and eased into the [Moonlight Sonata](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL89ZD7iCc0Y4hvrXDTqhE_C7vB_5YYyso).

It was amazing how the memory flowed with the music. Eighth grade, my first true solo recital, sitting on stage in the black dress my mother had painstakingly altered until it was as professional as a 13-year-old could expect to look. My hair was tightly pinned back into a bun – my brother complaining that it was a piano recital, not a _ballet_ – and she’d allowed me a bit of mascara and a smudge of lipstick. “So the lights don’t wash you out, Gwennie love,” she’d said by way of explanation.

My best friend Jennifer sat in the front row; she had spent so much time in and out of foster care by the time my mom got her hands on her that she became practically my sister. Would have been legally, had the cancer been caught in time. Patrick and I were going to name our child for her, had it been a girl. I was going to find out that day…

I opted out of the faster section of the Moonlight Sonata, switching over to Für Elise, more confident I could carry that, given the circumstances. They were both Beethoven, and they flowed easily from one into the next. The memory of my brother sitting next to me on the bench prompted me to close my eyes against the spectacle before me. Rather than wall-to-wall wide-eyed strangers and ridiculously masked nobility, the world behind my eyes was my practice room at the school, my brother lounging beside me. He would do his homework there, so that by the time I was finished practicing and ready to go home, he would have the rest of his night free.

His friends would come in, one by one. They knew not to bother me, and they tended to be my most steadfast defenders. I’d only ever had to throw one punch; once I’d given the kid who was bullying me a shiner, he’d had no rest from my brother’s friends. They’d all appear, eventually, at my recitals as well. It was a cheap date, and _helping my friend’s kid sister_ was a good way to endear them to the ladies.

I was starting to suspect I’d never be completely done mourning the world I’d left behind.

Michael’s piano – Pennat’s masterwork – would serve as a memorial for as long as I had fingers to play.

I paused at the end of Für Elise and made myself look at the crowd. I could hear the orchestra playing, behind the heavy doors between this room and the ball room, and I realized they must have closed them to keep my music separate from theirs. Here was hoping they didn’t begrudge me the parlor.

Dorian caught my eyes, then; he had worked his way near the front of the assembly and he was watching me with absolutely no attempt to hide his feelings. His face was awash in sorrow and respect, awe and sympathy. He knew me well enough that he could see exactly what I was thinking, what I was feeling, and while he had heard the story of the piano he clearly hadn’t seen it before now. I shifted slightly on the bench and extended my hand to him. “Dorian!”

His eyes widened and he stepped on the dais. I patted the bench. “How precisely does this work?” he asked as he carefully sat down.

“Just don’t kick the pedals – down there, the three bits of brass where my feet are – and don’t touch the keys. Everything else on the cabinet is free game. You could lay on it if you wanted to.”

“Keys?” he asked.

I tapped one of the ivories. “Keys. Each one is attached to a hammer inside the cabinet, and striking the key, here,” I hit three of the _Cs_ in quick succession, dancing up the octaves, “hits the string inside.”

“So it is just an incredibly complicated way to play a harp,” he grasped. I nodded. “I understand. What is my purpose here?”

I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Keep me company?”

His expression softened. “Of course, Gwennie love.”

I knew a piano arrangement for Pachelbel’s _Canon in D_ and with my head yet on Dorian’s shoulder I picked my way through it.

The melancholy was almost palpable. My longtime piano instructor had played this version at my wedding, for the processional that took my bridesmaids down the aisle before me. I whispered the memory to Dorian as I played it, telling him the exact point in the music that everything happened. Here, the doors opened and my father walked me into the church. Here, Patrick finally looked up and saw me walking towards him. Here, I realized my dad was crying. Here, he was shaking Patrick’s hand. He lifted my veil. He kissed my cheek. He gave me away.

The song ended and I had to wipe away tears again. A quick glance showed nary a dry eye in the house – although there were notably more people crushed into the room. The only open space seemed to be far in the back, near the hastily-repaired French doors leading out to the garden.

“You have to stop this,” Dorian told me lightly. “There is nothing – and I mean nothing in the world – worse than Orlesians crying. These poor sods don’t even know _why_ they’re crying. Play something else. Anything else.”

I laughed. “It’s just a piano. It's limited by my memory and almost everything I know is melancholy.”

“Think of something.”

My fingers found the notes before I realized what they were playing. “I’ll sing it in English, they’ll never know what it’s about,” I told him.

“Maker save us,” Dorian sighed.

_I heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord. But you don’t really care for music, do you?_

_It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth – the minor fall, the major lift: the baffled King composing Hallelujah._

_Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah._

Hellen was suddenly visible in the back of the room, and her face was utterly thunderstruck. She knew the song from that night in her room, the night after my judgment but before the bodies were found, the night I finally confessed to _someone_ that I was in love with Cullen. She met my eyes, and raised one hand to her heart. All I could do was smile. A moment later, she was gone.

By the end of the second verse, Dorian was harmonizing with me on the chorus. By the time I got around to _Hallelujah_ for the third time, fully half of the assembled nobles joined in.

Andrastians singing a word from Christian prayer in the language of the Qun: it made my spiritually confused heart glad.

When we winded down to the end of the song as I knew it, I went back and rendered one of the earlier verses into Common, so the Orlesians had _some_ idea what they’d been singing.

_Maybe I’ve been here before, I know this room, I’ve walked this floor. I used to live alone before I knew you_

_I’ve seen your flag on the Marble Arch. Love is not a victory march; it’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah._

_Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah. Hallelujah._

When I finished, there was dead silence for the space of ten heartbeats, and then thunderous applause.

“Keep going,” Dorian urged. “Hellen only just left, she needs more time.”

“I haven’t played this much in years,” I gritted to him, stretching my aching hands. “I haven’t played _at all_ in months. Remember?”

“This was your idea!” He reminded me.

Cullen passed through the back of the room then – seeming to be hot on Hellen’s heels, and it was the inspiration I needed. Elton John’s _Your Song_ was easy to translate to Common on the fly, even if it didn’t rhyme. I was able to make some of the humor stick, and I saw some open smiles beneath the masks and makeup. A minute or so later, Cullen wandered back into the room, wearing the same thunderstruck expression I had seen on Hellen just a short while later. Our eyes met just as I hit the line _Yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen.  
__And you can tell everybody this is your song. It may be quite simple but now that it’s done I hope you don’t mind-  
__I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words, How wonderful life is while you’re in the world_.

Cullen stood and stared for far too long. I watched Sera swoop through, kick him soundly in the knees, and then drag him away. He gained his footing within three paces and got the upper hand, reaching down to grab one of her ankles and swinging her into a fireman’s carry over his shoulders. They disappeared in the direction Hellen had gone, and I remembered what I was supposed to be doing.

Elton was a great idea; my mom had been a fan and the memories bubbled up almost unbidden.

I struck a couple keys. “I want to translate these into Kingspeak for you,” I said lightly. I didn’t have to pitch my voice to be sure it carried to every corner; the people crammed into the parlor fell silent the second I twitched a finger or opened my mouth to speak. “They rhyme in my native tongue, but forgive me for not being quick enough to perfect the rhyming scheme while I’m translating them in my head. I was only allowed to sit at the piano yesterday, by the Grace of Empress Celene, and I am a bit out of practice. I hope you can all forgive me.”

They were eating out of my hand. I could have stood up and confessed to _being Corypheus_ and not one of them would have given a shit.

_I Guess That’s Why They Call it the Blues_ actually translated extremely well. It didn’t rhyme, of course, but I managed to get the right number of syllables in each line as I went, so the flow was right. I was letting the last notes settle in the air, the assembled nobility applauding once more, as Hellen somehow emerged from the crowd and slid onto the bench beside me.

“Anything else I know?” she asked.

I grinned at her. “Do a duet with me?”

“Alright,” she agreed cautiously.

I tapped out the simple piano part, and her eyes widened. “Remember?”

She nodded.

“Okay, you start.”

Hellen blanched, took a steadying breath, and did as I told her to.

_Say something, I’m giving up on you. I’ll be the one if you want me to.  
_ _Anywhere I would’ve followed you. Say something I’m giving up on you._

I joined her on the next stanza, and we managed to harmonize through the rest of the song, my voice in the registers above hers, watching each other closely to be sure we kept the same cue. Once or twice I prompted her with words, but she always covered, always caught up. We had tacitly agreed to forsake translating it into Common as we went, keeping the words greedily to ourselves.

I suspected the lyrics meant something completely different to us both.

_Say something, I’m giving up on you. I’m sorry that I couldn’t get to you.  
__Anywhere I would’ve followed you. Say something, I’m giving up on you_.

There was no applause when we ended, only stunned silence. Hellen stood, kissed the top of my head, and disappeared into a crowd that parted before her like the Red Sea.

I took a break, then, and mingled through the room, answering questions about the piano, myself, my dress (it was all Vivienne and Josephine, I had _no say_ in the matter, I swear) and my rather spectacular dance with Cullen the night before. Sera pressed a glass of something in my hands and I drank it without inspection. It was clear and bright and _strong_ and it was exactly what I needed. I soon had another glass of it handed to me, but since it hadn’t come from Sera I left it on the table. I accepted a glass of ice water from Dorian the next time he came through, and eventually I was convinced to return to the piano.

I could be a nerd here, and no one would know. I played through all the music from the Legend of Zelda games, spending far more time in Gerudo Valley than was probably necessary, but it was my favorite melody from the games and I adored it. I knew the Skyrim theme and the Star Wars theme and a ton of other movie and game music. No one here would ever know that I’d spent hours with a pair of headphones on, teaching myself the music from Mario Brothers when I was a kid.

I passed the whole night that way, idly chatting with people who slowly got the nerve to sidle up to the piano and ask me whatever burning question was on their mind. Most of them were matters I had no idea about, and the ones that did sound familiar I had no opinion on. I remained as noncommittal as possible, encouraging free will and service to one’s fellow man.

The bell started tolling – while the parlor was still painfully full – and Cullen was there, finally, retrieving me from behind the piano and sweeping me out of the Palace to one of the waiting carriages.

I was half-asleep on the ride back, exhausted from so long in the limelight, from digging so deep into my long-neglected memories of my family. Cullen was there for me to lean on when we returned to our manse – already having lost its tie to Gaspard, even in our vocabulary – and the memory of how we came home the night before did more to wake me up than a shot of espresso.

“Did you want to go to sleep right away?” he murmured, his fingers twitching against the placard of buttons on the back of my dress, the resignation thick in his voice.

“And miss the look on your face when this thing lands on the floor? Not on your life.”


	46. Halamshiral: Night Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because what we need in this story is MORE OCs, don't you think?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what! I finished writing part 3 over the weekend. The risk of a hiatus has been lifted.  
> I'm going to keep this to the once-a-week schedule until we get through Halamshiral, so I'm sure I have enough time for editing and continuity checks. Once we get through night seven, however, I think we'll pick up the pace and do a post every 3 or 4 days again.  
> In other news, since I've finished writing KTTS, I am finishing another DA:I playthru with my personal canon Inquisitor, commonly known as Knuckles. I suspect that will encourage me to write the Trespasser extension to the Noble Thief universe. On top of that, there is a spinoff from Gwen's world that we'll talk about in another ten chapters or so, the Trespasser sequel to Keep to the Stars, and the DA4 sequel that is not even in production yet until we get more information about that game. 
> 
> tl;dr: Keep To The Stars is completely written now, but I've got a lot more coming down the pipe! Hiatus averted!

We were awake at a far more reasonable hour the next morning, although within thirty minutes I wished I had never risen from bed. One of his Lieutenants came for Cullen shortly after he had dressed, and he was swept from the apartment while I yet lounged in a silk bathrobe over a cup of fine coffee.

He returned with the sort of look on his face that made me think of everything I'd done that day that could have potentially pissed him off. “I’m sorry,” he said, and his tone filled me with the kind of dread that settles in your stomach and ruins your day. “I can think of no better alternative. I need you to dress quickly and come with me, there’s been a discovery.”

I launched from the chaise and scurried into the dressing room to pull on my infirmary uniform. I took the time to tie my hair back into a fairly respectable braid; I regretted the vanity at the moment but was very quickly glad for the foresight. I followed Cullen down stairs into the basement, and through three rooms until we reached what seemed to be a false wall that had been propped open to reveal a door and another long, narrow stairwell. There were two Inquisition soldiers in heavy armor on either side of the door, and a guttering torch at the bottom.

The air was bitterly cold as we descended, and I was almost immediately shivering. “I didn’t think of the chill, I’m sorry,” Cullen murmured. He didn’t slow our pace or try to warm me; that more than anything else told me something very serious was afoot.

We reached the bottom of the stairs and entered a room with two more guards standing at attention on either side of the propped-open door. There was nothing in the room except torches bracketed on the walls and another door on the right-hand wall from where we had entered. It was still closed, although I didn’t give it much thought when I noticed the person in the room.

What little I could see of her was filthy. She had the lithe build of an elf beneath a single threadbare blanket clutched around her shoulders. Her head was bowed, and she seemed to be huddled on her knees with her back to the corner as far from either door as she could manage. I couldn’t see her face, and I couldn’t tell if she was aware that she was no longer alone.

I glanced at Cullen, and he gestured at the door to our right – it seemed to be shackled shut – and then nodded at the figure in the corner. I took it to mean he meant for me to look at the door, which seemed off, but if I could help the person I should.

“Hello?” I asked, stepping tentatively towards her.

“Fuck yourself,” she replied viciously in English.

Oh. _That’s_ why he needed me.

“Should I do that and then come back?” I replied in kind.

She shrank back, and her head jerked slightly although she didn’t look up.

“You are Viddathari?” I pressed, assuming from build and clothing she wasn't from my world.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Are you injured?”

She seemed confused by the question, tilting her head slightly to the side. “I am.”

“I am a healer,” I explained. “I would like your permission to assist you.”

Her head twitched again. “You are _not_ Viddathari.”

“I am not.”

“Who taught you Qunlat?”

“My mother,” I answered simply.

“You are not Tal’Vashoth. You have not the voice for it.”

“My people speak your language. They call it English.”

“You are one of the offworlders I was shackled to search for?”

I dropped to my knees in front of her, although the change in position illuminated no more of her face. ”You were shackled to search for people like me?”

The head tilt again. “I was captured for my language, and forced to interview the people he brought before me. Many of them were sick in the head, and spoke gibberish they mistook for Qunlat. But some… some of them were like you, offworlders who spoke Qunlat and were lost in this world.”

“Was one of them named Michael?”

“Yes. The other was a young woman, only a few weeks ago… Her name was Jacqueline.”

“What happened to Jacqueline?”

“He killed her.”

I took a deep breath. “And the others, that he thought were offworlders but were not?”

“He killed them.”

“Can I ask you more about those two people later, Michael and Jacqueline? I feel sorry for the others, but the two offworlders I need to know more about. Would it be alright if we took you upstairs, let you get warm and cleaned up, and we can speak again after you’ve had something hot to eat?”

“Who are you to remove me from Gaspard’s prison?”

“We were betrayed by Gaspard, so we killed him and took over his manse,” I answered simply.

She went still.

“He is dead?”

“He is.”

“How?”

“He confessed to attempting to kill the Herald of Andraste and was executed in front of the Empress.”

“No,” she gritted. “How did he die?”

“The Inquisitor opened a rift in his chest and sucked him screaming into the Fade.”

Her head slowly lifted, and I fought to control my reaction as I saw her face. Her eyes had been gouged out, the empty sockets left open, red and inflamed. “Good,” she hissed.

“We need to treat your injuries,” I told her. “Will you come upstairs?”

“You are Inquisition?”

“I am.”

“You follow a Tal’Vashoth.”

“No, I follow a _Vashoth_.”

She grunted. “You have Ben’Hassrath with you.”

“You mean the Bull? He told the Inquisitor he was Ben’Hassrath, yes.” I felt like I was skirting the truth, but it was more important for me to talk her out of the basement than it was to make a friend.

“So you will not make me speak the language of these barbarians?”

“No, you can speak only Qunlat if you prefer. I have worked to teach others the basics.”

She nodded. “I will go.”

“Can I send you with one of these soldiers? I will tell them to take you to Bull and not ask you anything in the language of your captors.”

“You… yes. Yes, I will go with them.”

“Cullen,” I said, glancing over my shoulder. “I’m going to send her upstairs with one of your soldiers. They need to take her directly to Bull and refrain from trying to speak to her in Common. As far as anyone is concerned she speaks only Qunlat, as I did when I arrived, although she will understand what we’re saying in Common.”

“You heard her,” Cullen said to one of the men stationed at the door, snapping his fingers at the soldier. “Escort this woman to the Iron Bull, and treat her as you would the Herald.”

“Yes, ser,” the soldier said, jumping forward to offer an arm to-

“I’m sorry, I did not ask your name,” I said, turning to help her stand up.

“Neria,” she answered. “And you?”

“Gwen,” I replied.

“I have heard your name many times,” she wearily informed me.

“I’m sorry my existence negatively impacted yours,” I replied, at a loss.

She snorted a laugh. “That’s one way to say it.”

“Your name, son,” I said to the soldier who had moved to stand next to me and offer an arm to Neria.

“Cale, ser.”

“Cale, this is Neria.” I said in Common, and then said in Qunlat, “Neria, this soldier’s name is Cale.”

“Thank you,” she breathed, allowing me to wrap her hands around his arm. I worked for a moment to tuck her blanket around her, as her clothing beneath was frayed and torn. Within moments, Cale was drawing her through the stairs and out of my line of sight.

Once she was gone, I could allow myself to be angry. I clenched my fists and stood in the middle of the room, aware of the filthy puddle on the floor where she had been crouched only a moment before. I drew and released four slow breaths before turning to Cullen.

The look on his face mirrored how I felt.

“I will be with you when you report to the others,” he said softly. “For now, we need to open this door and insure we have all the information we need.”

“You’re right,” I sighed. “What’s the story with the door?”

“The scouts told Leliana about it first, and she thought it best that you see it before we attempted to remove it.”

I gestured at the door. “Let me see it, then,” I said, and Cullen stepped aside and drew me towards the lock with a steady hand on the small of my back.

I saw immediately why I had been sought. There was a rather substantial bar holding the door shut, and the bar was shackled in place with a battered, black-knob combination Masterlock.

“Son of a…” I breathed as I lifted the lock and checked the back. Sure enough, scratched into the metal were three numbers.

“The symbols made us believe it was something you might have seen before,” Cullen told me with some degree of satisfaction as I spun the dial. Clockwise to clear, stop on the first number. Counter clockwise past the second number once, stop on it the second time. Clockwise to the third number and-

The lock opened with a rusty sort of snap.

“It needs oiled and it will last forever, or damn near,” I said, bouncing the padlock in my palm. “Even knowing the right numbers, a lot of people can’t figure out how to open these things. Whoever owned this scratched the combination right there on the back, if you knew to look.”

“We didn’t touch it but to realize there was no place to put a key,” Cullen reported. “Leliana didn’t feel like it was worth the risk.”

“I’ll tell her how it works,” I promised, closing my fingers around the unexpected memento.

“You there,” Cullen called to the remaining soldier at the foot of the stairs. “Send for reinforcements, this door is no longer locked.”

The heavily armed and armored man turned and raced up the stairs far more dexterously than I would have expected him to have managed.

“Are you going to wait?” I asked Cullen. He was eying the door.

“I should,” he answered.

Before we could say aught else, the door was flung open from the other side. The smell that struck me nearly made me retch; bottled death and something vaguely sulfuric, mixed with an unfamiliar acidic sort of burn.

“Get up the stairs,” Cullen ordered, in the voice he normally reserved for troop deployments. “Now!”

In a world where death does not impart nor imply any sort of still finality, where corpses can rise seemingly of their own accord, the smell seeping from behind a door that just seemed to open itself was cause enough to flee. I didn’t wait to be told twice, but turned and sprinted for the stairs.

I paused just long enough at the doorway to be sure Cullen was following – he was hot on my heels – and saw _something_ ambling out of the darkness in the room beyond the door. I threw myself up the stairs as quickly as I could manage, knowing full well I was slowing Cullen down.

How fast could the undead climb stairs?

I reached the top step in time to get into the room beyond and fling myself to the side so I wasn’t run down by the twenty or twenty-five soldiers in Inquisition half-plate, swords drawn and shields ready, bearing down the stairs.

“COLE!” I howled as I saw Cullen’s face broach the top of the stairs and start directing the reinforcements.

The spirit appeared immediately. “Dorian. We need Dorian. Everybody else would be good but we _need Dorian now_!”

Cole disappeared and I raced over to where the soldier with Neria had paused. “Trade me!” I called.

“Yes, ser!” he answered, handing me his charge with an air of palpable relief before drawing his weapon and charging towards his fellows at the stairs. I dropped the padlock into my pocket and wrapped an arm around Neria, who stiffened slightly at the contact. I gathered it was more from her physical condition than a desire not to be touched, as she slowly leaned into my shoulder.

“It’s Gwen again,” I told Neria softly in English as I led her away from the muted sounds of battle. “Some of the bodies in that other room had risen. It’s best you and I get out of the way.”

“Impossible,” Neria grunted as we reached the next flight of stairs. We had to stand aside a moment as Dorian plunged down them three at a time, Blackwall and Cassandra following at an only slightly more controlled rate of descent. I felt Cole go by, as well, though I was not looking for him. When the coast was clear I led her gently up. “I am doomed to be perpetually in the way until I am permitted to end myself honorably.”

“Oh?” I asked, trying to keep my voice mild. “And why is that?”

“What purpose may I serve, crippled and blind? Will you release me to the tamassrans, to be reassigned?”

I shook my head again, before I realized she couldn’t see it. “Not just yet. We don’t have an open connection to the Qun, I’m not sure how we would manage it. But I can think of many things you may still do. The blind in my world excelled in many fields, as the loss of one sense enhanced the others. Your fingertips will grow more sensitive, your hearing more acute, and your senses of smell and taste will become sharper. You could serve well in an organized kitchen, for example, or learn to make or play or tune instruments.”

“What point is there in music?” she asked bitterly, although it seemed a point made out of stubborn pride rather than any real contention.

“I had a room full of Orlesians singing a chorus to the god of _my_ people, and not a one of them knew,” I informed her softly. “Music can convert more, faster, than a thousand swords could ever dream.”

Neria fell silent. We reached the second floor and I sat her on a bench on the landing before continuing up to the third, her pulse at her throat and the rate of her breathing informing me of her need to rest. She would leave a smudge of filth on the upholstery, but given it was originally Gaspard’s I didn’t really care.

“Why would you tell me this?” she asked as she caught her breath. “You are not of the Qun.”

“I believe an individual’s need for purpose – or even Faith – is more important than what that purpose is,” I answered. “I would rather you work to spread a religion that I do not follow than you believe yourself without worth.”

“But that is counter to your purpose.”

“Is it?” I asked, helping her to her feet and starting towards the last flight of stairs. “What do you suppose my purpose is?”

“As you are not of the Qun, it is to resist the spread of Koslun’s word.”

I couldn’t completely stifle the laugh. “I do not ascribe to the Qun, that is correct. But that does not mean that others should not follow it and be enriched by it. I do not think the world is quite so clearly divided into _friend_ and _foe_. While I would resist the Qun on a personal level, I do not begrudge it to others and would prefer they pay me the same respect.”

“I do not understand you, Gwen.”

“That is quite alright,” I answered as we reached the last stair. “We’ve only just met, after all.”

“I will not abandon the Qun.”

“Okay. I would not ask you to.”

“But-“

“Worry about it later,” I insisted. “We’re almost to Hellen’s room, where I’m going to get you a bath and some fresh clothes and make sure your wounds are healing properly. Then we’ll get you some decent rest and perhaps tomorrow make a plan for your future. If at that point you still want to be returned to… wherever it is you were taken from, we can try to figure out how to make it work.”

Neria made no answer. A few moments later I was knocking on Hellen’s door.

“Knock knock knocking on Hellen’s door,” I heard her singing softly on the other side, and it was all I could do not to laugh.

“Let me in, dork,” I called in English. Neria was shaking her head, clearing confused.

“Gwen!” I heard the muffled voice, and then the door swung open. She always matched my choice in language, and today was no different. “What are you- oh.”

“Hellen, this is Neria, may I come in?”

“Absolutely,” she said, and I felt her sweep her magic across me, looking for injuries.

“There are undead in the basement,” I told her conversationally. “Neria understands Common but has requested to only be communicated with in Qunlat. Given the hardships she suffered as Gaspard’s unwilling translator, I cannot fault her.”

Neria stiffened as Hellen gave her a magical once-over. Hellen noticed.

“I would like permission to heal your injuries,” Hellen told the Viddathari.

“You are saarebaas?”

“No,” Hellen answered, perhaps a little harshly. “I am a spirit healer, not a sewn-mouthed living trebuchet.”

Neria’s shoulders curled inward at the censure. Hellen didn’t seem to want to wait for consent any longer, and I watched Neria briefly be suffused in green light. She immediately straightened.

“I can do nothing for your eyes,” Hellen said, much more gently. “I am sorry.”

Neria shook her head. Something about the experience seemed to have moved her greatly, although without eyes it was difficult to get a read on exactly her emotional state.

“Do you have a tub here?” I asked Hellen. “I could take her downstairs or to Leliana’s room, but I wanted to stay close to her and I didn’t know if you had yet lifted the restrictions on my movement.”

“I have a tub,” Hellen quickly assured me. “And, no, your restrictions have _not_ been lifted. How did you get into the basement?”

“Cullen took me,” I answered. “There was a padlock from my world on the door the undead were shuffling behind.”

“Have they been dealt with?” she asked as she led us through her apartment to the smallest chamber in the back, where two buckets sat behind a screen and a wide cask occupied the middle of the floor. Her steamer trunk of clothing was closed and standing in the corner farthest from the little screen.

“I would assume so. Cullen had two dozen soldiers arrive just as I left, and I had sent Cole for Dorian. Dorian brought Blackwall and Cassandra.”

“How many undead were there?”

I shrugged. “Cullen told me to run.”

“And you’re not worried about him?”

I considered the question as Hellen worked to fill the tub – magically, of course, as there was no reason to ring the servants to bring up hot water – and I slowly helped Neria out of the shredded remains of her clothes.

“I’m not,” I answered eventually. “I don’t know why, but I’m just confident they’re all fine.”

Hellen’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t continue questioning me. Which was good, because I didn’t really want to think about it. Hellen stepped forward as I led Neria to the tub and hesitated only a moment before reaching out with both hands and lifting the woman – perhaps a half-elf, given my initial impression – into the water. Neria gasped slightly as she was set down – possibly only then realizing that Hellen was Qunari by race if not belief.

The gasp turned into a slow hissing exhale as she settled into the water. “This is… wonderful,” she admitted as she sank backwards into the tub.

“I will wash your hair if you like,” I offered. “We should get as much clean as we can with this first pass and then dump the water and start over.”

“Start over?” Neria asked. “Why would you-“

“As I told you before,” I reminded her gently as I leaned over the edge of the tub to start slowly unmatting her hair, “I am a healer. So is Hellen. _This_ is our purpose.”

“My wounds were healed,” Neria protested weakly.

“Oh, no,” I corrected her. “Hellen healed your physical wounds. There are many ways to be hurt, Neria, and not just the body can scar.”

She nodded dejectedly, and I stopped attempting conversation, concentrating instead on getting her clean. Hellen excused herself from the room to check in on the progress in the basement, and managed to return in time to help me dump the bathwater and start anew. She brought a change of clothes for me, as well, as I was rather liberally covered in everything I had just scrubbed off Neria.

Neria was content to soak in the second tubful of water, and I took the opportunity to cross the hallway and take a quick bath of my own in Leliana’s room. The Spymaster and the Ambassador were both present, and eager to listen to my report on the morning’s events.

“She is a spy,” Leliana declared as I was drying off.

“Of course she is,” I answered. “Or, if she isn’t already, she will be soon.”

She paused. “You think we should allow her to report back on our dealings to the Qun?”

“I think that the Inquisition is already full of spies and counter spies,” I answered. “Including factions that haven’t declared themselves yet. The time for clearing the ranks comes after Corypheus is dead.”

“We are not-“

“We are,” I insisted gently. “Skyhold is too large, and the Inquisition ranks filled too quickly, for you to have caught them all. And many already in will be converted to other causes as time goes on. It is not a problem for today, Leliana.”

“Gwen, I have not-“

“Leliana,” I interrupted. “It has not happened yet.”

She blinked. “I do not understand.”

“I will explain later, I promise you. It is a problem for another day. Corypheus is the problem now, and thus the assassination plot against Empress Celene is our concern. The day Corypheus falls is the night we sit down and discuss the future.”

“I thought you did not know what happened after Corypheus’ death,” Josephine softly interjected.

“I did not,” I sighed as I got dressed. “It is one of the many things I had forgotten when Andraste stripped my memories to send me here. She said the previous months would have gotten foggy, and I could remember little past early July – our seventh month. And yet I was brought here late in the ninth month, September. I had learned more about this world in that intervening time, and it has become clear in my mind again.”

“How much do you know?” Josephine asked.

“If we can just get rid of Corypheus, we will have a couple of years of relative peace,” I reassured her. “Plenty of time to worry about what comes next. I only know a few years, I know there is more trouble looming, but… There was a set up for another game, another chapter in the story, and I only know that it is coming. I do not know what will happen, but I will help us prepare.”

“And what if something happens to you?” Leliana demanded, striding forward to stand toe-to-toe with me. She was taller, _everyone_ was taller, but I refused to be cowed and she knew it. She had to look down, but _by god_ she looked me in the eye. “What if Hellen hadn’t gotten to you in time the other day? Where would we be then?”

“You would still be fully capable, intelligent, driven, _successful_ women who are more than able to take care of shit without me,” I answered. “But if you would rather I write everything down _just in case_ then I will.”

“I…” Leliana faltered. “I would rather.”

“I’ll lock it in the chest you made.”

Leliana looked pointedly to the wrist where the key used to dangle. “And who can open the chest?”

I smiled. “I am sure they will let you know if it ever comes to that.”

“They?” Josephine asked, surprised. “You gave away both keys?”

I nodded. “I did. It seemed fitting.”

Josephine opened her mouth to ask another question, but interrupted her. “I’m sorry, I need to get back to Neria. Will you help me find her something to wear?”

Josephine immediately agreed and I briefly clasped Leliana’s shoulder. She returned the gesture and then stepped aside, letting me leave.

Neria was asleep in the tub, her head tipped back on the rim. Hellen leaned against the wall just inside the door to the bathroom.

“Keeping the water warm?” I asked softly.

Hellen nodded. “And making sure she doesn’t slip under. I don’t think she should be awakened by anyone but you, not yet at least. She is most familiar with your voice.”

“Fair,” I conceded. “Josephine is finding her some clothes.”

Hellen nodded at a pile of thick towels. “We can bundle her up and put her to bed for now.”

“Whose-“

“Mine,” Hellen asserted immediately. “And you should stay here with her tonight.”

“But you might need me at the-“

“Sera was locked out of the servant’s quarters of the palace this morning,” Hellen told me. “She came back to warn me, and took Lyal back with her to try to get in and save as many people as she can.”

“The assassination is tonight.”

“It seems that way. And I want you away from it. We have to leave most of our forces here anyways; we’ll slip what soldiers into the Palace that we can, but the Chargers have stayed here every night and tonight can be no different. We cannot tip our hand.”

“But me staying behind-“

“Will be explained by the finding of prisoners in the basement. You are known as a healer, Gwen, the truth will be enough.”

There was no arguing with her. I tugged her out of the room. We stood so that we could still see Neria sitting within, but I gestured Hellen down so I could whisper directly into her ear. “If it happens the way I remember, you will be sent to the courtyard for a meeting. It is a trap. There will be archers stationed around you and a rift will be opened. It’s a distraction to keep you busy while the Empress is killed.”

Hellen nodded grimly. “It is Florianne, is it not?”

I nodded. “In the version I was told, yes, it is Florianne. I worry that my being here-“

“I know. I found the truth for myself, don’t worry. I will spend the night looking for traps, I promise you, including those of my own making.”

I gripped her wrist, hard. “Be careful.”

Hellen grinned, the sharpened points of her teeth appearing more sinister to me than they had in months. “It is not me who should be careful. You’re being left alone with a Viddathari spy.”

I laughed. “I’ll have Kremmie come sit with us.”

“Good girl.” She pulled away from me. “A pity. We’re wearing a coppery sort of gold tonight. I was looking forward to seeing you in it.”

“I’ll wear it for you in Skyhold,” I promised happily, and Hellen gave me a quick hug and then strode out of the room. She had a lot to prepare for, and I had a sickly woman to lever out of a tub.

 

*

 

I saw Cullen for only a moment that afternoon, as the daily brunch adjourned and Dorian popped his head into Hellen’s bedroom just long enough to let me know they were leaving and to remind me about the zone of silence he’d cast to keep their conversation from disturbing – or enlightening – Neria.

Cullen had come into the room just as Dorian left and strode quickly across to where I sat reading Genitivi’s tome at the side of the bed. His hand dropped to the small of my back as he leaned over and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Call for Cole if anything goes awry,” he requested as his free hand dropped a sealed note into my lap.

“Nothing will hurt me,” I reassured him. “I will be safe here, don’t worry. I will call for Cole if I feel threatened. Or I will simply _step out_ , if you catch my meaning.”

He nodded, and I tipped my chin up to silently request a kiss. He brushed his lips across mine and then left as quickly as he’d come. I suspected he hadn’t really had the time to stop and see me to begin with, and found myself smiling fondly as I watched him disappear from view.

“You are in love with the Commander?” Neria asked sleepily.

Given he’d announced it to the whole of the Orlesian court, I had no reason to dissemble. “Yes.”

“He worries for your safety here?”

“He worries for my safety everywhere.”

“Does he not believe you are amply protected?”

“Protecting me is _his_ job,” I told her. “I am just a healer, remember? He’s much better at keeping me safe than I am. I’m happy to let him handle it however he sees fit. If that means he worries, then I accept that he worries.”

“Wise of you,” she muttered, and went back to sleep.

Krem let himself in as I was reading the letter Cullen had left me, and took a seat in the living room after popping his head into the room and waving to let me know he was there. The Commander had taken extensive notes during the meeting, it seemed, so that I would be kept abreast of the situation.

All information pointed to the assassination attempt happening that night.

After what was described to be "a good little fight," the undead had been dispatched and cremated. Several of the bodies in the basement had _not_ been animated, and once the undead were slain and the room entered it was found to be a rather gruesome torture chamber. The remaining corpses were largely unidentifiable, but for one whose clothing seemed to resist decay. The shoes on that body were in poor shape, but had been immediately recognized as the same style as my own footwear from Earth: her chucks, however, were red.

She was undoubtedly the Jacqueline Neria had told me of. There was much to comb through in the lower levels, but Cullen left me a note promising to find me anything that could have been her possession, so that I could try to piece together what had happened.

Solas had been added to Sera’s team, to try to break into the servant’s quarters and save as many as possible, as had – after much debate – Cole. Everyone else was to conduct themselves as they had every other night of the Ball.

There were other comments in the margins – things Cullen thought I would like to know, reactions people had made ( _this angered Vivienne_ was written at one point), single words with question marks that were questions or concerns either he or someone else had raised. It was a peek into his mind, and I found myself pouring over it for far longer than I had intended.

In the end, it was the only curiosity in an otherwise uneventful night. I sat in the doorway and threw bits of the décor at Krem until he noticed me, and he responded by tearing up paper at Hellen’s desk to make balls to lob back. We spent hours sitting on the floor near the doorway between the bedroom and living room, where he could watch the front door and I could watch Neria; I taught him how to fold paper airplanes and what little origami I knew until we ran Hellen completely out of paper.

Krem solved the problem by going to the door and calling for Dalish. She robbed the desk in Gaspard’s study and came back with an armload of fine, heavy weight paper.

Dalish made the best paper cranes.

By the time Hellen walked into the room – we hadn’t noticed they’d all come back – we had dozens of folded paper critters scattered around the room.

“You plainly had a better night than I did,” she said from the doorway. We looked up guiltily, but the warm smile on her face was instantly reassuring.

“Success?” Krem asked, leaping quickly to his feet.

“You might say that. I wiped out most of the _de Chalons_ family tree this week. We’re scheduled to meet with the Empress tomorrow and help her handle the paperwork involved, since I technically judged both the Grand Duke and the Grand Duchess before blowing them the fuck up. Also, there’s the question of Briala to iron out. You’re not getting to skip out on that one.”

“Dinner with the Empress again?” I asked sweetly.

“And probably half of the nightly entertainment.”

“What of Neria?”

Hellen glanced over at the still form in her bed. “Leave her. We’ll talk to her in the morning, if she’s still here. We’ll leave a guard at the door.”

“Where will you-“ Dalish started to ask.

“Shush,” I said, and herded the two Chargers out of the room. “Shush, scoot, keep your teeth together, _go_. You let me worry about where Hellen sleeps.”

“Yes, ma,” Krem laughed.

“Good night, ma,” Dalish mocked us both from the door, but her ear-to-ear grin gave truth to the lie.

I pushed the door closed behind them. “Do you want me to clear you a path?”

Hellen looked at me for a moment, and I watched as a slow smile drew across her features. “No. I find I don’t really care who knows where I intend to sleep tonight. If Josephine won’t have me, I’ll crawl in with Dorian. Since _you_ are definitely out of reach for the night.”

“Oh?” I laughed.

Hellen nodded and gestured for me to lead the way out. “It was every other sentence with him. Stop the Duchess, I wish Gwen were here. Our troops are in position, I hope Gwen is safe. It would be pathetic if it wasn’t so damn adorable.”

I snorted. “There is no way you can look at that man and _ever_ think the word to describe him is _pathetic_ ,” I said before tugging open the door.

Hellen laughed lightly. “Whatever you say, sister mine. Go shut him up for me.”

“Give my regards to your lady,” I said in reply. We split in the hallway, heading opposite directions.

“I will,” she called back.

I caught her eye as I lifted my knuckles to knock on Cullen’s door. She was watching me with a smile, caught in the exact same motion down the hall. I saw the door open to Josephine’s room, and Hellen’s smile changed…

I hadn’t seen her face so _soft_ before. She looked, for that one moment, young and vulnerable and open and everything the Inquisitor _wasn’t_. She was relaxed with me, and friendly and happy, but never so _fragile_ as she was in that brief moment when the light poured out of Josephine’s room onto her hopeful, anxious face.

And then she stepped through the doorway, and the moment was gone.

“What do you see?” I heard Cullen ask.

I spun around, not realizing he’d opened the door. “Hellen. I’m just… happy for her,” I said.

“Why did you knock?” he asked, drawing me into the room with one hand to my waist. He shut the door behind me and locked it before drawing me against him for a nearly suffocating hug.

“You have me trained, I suppose,” I laughed against his chest. “I didn’t know if this room had been warded during the day, and I didn’t want to come in before you. Doing my part to keep safe and-“

His mouth was on mine, his hands in my hair, and my assertion that I was trying to help rather than hinder was lost.

“Thank you,” he breathed when he let me up for air.

“Mmmm,” I answered. “Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just couldn't bring any of the characters to break character and let Gwen near the Ball on the night the assassination was set to occur. Hellen wouldn't allow it, Cullen sure as shit wouldn't allow it, and Gwen - after being shot a few nights before - wouldn't have argued it. As such, and since Gwen is our narrator, we just don't get to see the events unfold.  
> Origami with Krem and Dalish is more fun, anyways.


	47. Halamshiral: Night Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just chillin' with the Empress and Briala and Morrigan, nbd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So usually I'm super careful about editing before I post, and I reread everything twice and then make a third check for continuity errors but...  
> ...yeah. Tonight at work was the suck. I'm hitting post and walking away. If anything jumps out at you, _please_ say something and I'll fix it.  <3

Our sixth day in Halamshiral started out well.

Exceptionally well, really.

Dorian, darling man that he is, had an oversized half-cask delivered to Cullen’s room just after dawn, with a note saying the Commander should bathe in his own chambers for once, rather than making the trip down to the soldier’s baths in the lower level. After the parade of servants bearing hot water finished filling the tub, Cullen thought to extend me an invitation to join him.

The best place to warm up after a bath was on a blanket in front of the fire, of course.

Somehow, even after spending most of the morning naked with Cullen, I managed to make it to the brunch meeting in Hellen’s room early enough to check on Neria, who was still sleeping.

The meeting itself was relatively painless, since they were no longer pouring over gossip to try to find clues about the assassination of Empress Celene. Information was now weighed against its use to the Inquisition, and so it could all simply be delivered to Josephine and Leliana, rather than picked through by the whole group. Neria was a completely different problem.

“The Qun will kill her,” Bull declared the moment Cullen and I concluded our report on her discovery. “Keep her and she’ll spy whether she is asked to or not.”

I sighed. “I figured as much. I told her there were jobs for the blind in my world, that she could have purpose without her eyes.”

“False hope,” he replied, a bit harshly. “Were she Qunari, the Tamassrans might make her a broodmare, but Viddathari…? Dead.”

“So we keep her,” I shrugged.

“You’ll be keeping a spy.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time. What did you use to call me?”

“That was different.”

“We let her decide,” Hellen interrupted, raising a palm to the two of us. “Bull, as a Ben Hassrath, tells her the Qun will kill her if we send her back, but we are willing to let her go if that is her choice. If she chooses to stay, Gwen will be responsible for finding her the purpose she was promised.”

“Fair,” I agreed.

Bull nodded.

Neria was not as reasonable.

“I will submit to the will of the Tamassrans,” she said immediately upon being woken up and informed of her options.

“They will kill you,” I reminded her.

“They may. They may not.  If the Tamassrans believe I no longer have a purpose, then it is the truth.”

I ground my teeth rather than yell at her. _It was her choice_. “I do not agree with your decision,” I told her, working to maintain my calm. “But it is your decision and I respect it. I will contact Josephine about making travel arrangements.”

I might have maybe slammed the door a little on my way out.

“Now, now,” Hellen chided from her seat behind her desk in the otherwise empty sitting room of her apartment. I counted five paper cranes she either hadn’t found or hadn’t opted to remove.

“She wants to go back.”

“That is her choice."

“Since when are you so _fucking_ reasonable?”

“Since you and Anders convinced me to bond with somebody named _Wisdom_. Have a seat.”

I sighed and dropped into the indicated chair. “I deserved that.”

“Yep.”

“So now what?”

She glanced up from the letter she was writing, although I couldn’t imagine who it was meant for. Everybody was _here_. “Now you hop across the hall, break the news to Josephine, and find something for the girl to wear. Then you get ready for another dinner with the Empress and a long shitty night of standing at my shoulder and looking holy while I browbeat Celene into fixing this fucking country.”

“Who are you writing?”

“The Queen of Antiva.”

“What?”

Hellen laughed at herself. “Might as well be, for how much it’s rattled me. I’m writing Josephine’s parents.”

“Ugh, that’s worse,” I commiserated, dropping my head to the chair back.  “Do I want to guess why?”

“Can you guess why?” Hellen asked, pausing to set her quill carefully down on the desk. “If you knew and you didn’t-“

“I asked you if you were in love with Josephine and you said _no_ ,” I reminded her defensively.

Hellen stood up. “You _knew_.”

“What did I know?” I asked, flinching.

“You knew they were going to betroth her to some Antivan flop!”

I did my best to try to seep into the chair. Dissolving into a puddle on the floor sounded promising. “I knew it was an-“

“BULLSHIT,” Hellen roared, and I curled up into a ball on the chair.

“Just challenge him to a duel, it will be okay,” I said. I aimed for “mollify” but landed somewhere closer to “simper.”

“A DUEL? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?”

“Jesus Mary and Joseph, if you’re going to kill me, just get it over with.”

Hellen made a series of strangled sounds and then dropped back into her desk chair, letting her forehead impact with the desktop with a deafening _boom_.

I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable knock on the door. As long as it wasn’t Josephine…

But the inquiry never came.

“Did you ward the room for sound?” I asked after it became clear no one was coming.

“Of course I did, we have a spy in the next room. I had Dorian do it yesterday, he even mentioned it to you.”

“So if something would have happened last night, nobody in the hallway would have heard me calling for help?”

Hellen slowly lifted her head up from her desk.

“If you tell Cullen that….”

“He’ll kill you?” I surmised.

“Gwen, I swear on Andraste’s blasted ankle mole-“

“Oh, so _now_ you want me to keep quiet about something I know? Hypocrite.”

Hellen’s forehead _thunked_ onto the desk again. “Oh, just get out.”

I didn’t wait for her to find something else to be mad at me for. I ducked out of her room and scurried down the hall to Josephine’s room and let myself in after my quick knock on the door was met with an invitation.

“She’s decided to go home to the Qun,” I informed Josephine.

The Ambassador, for her part, merely sighed. “Very well. I can. have her on the road by this evening, if you think she is well enough to travel.”

“She needs clothes,” I countered, “and basic supplies for her journey. And likely an escort; she didn’t have the muscle mass to be a fighter.”

“I’ve had clothes gathered from among the staff, they should be on their way to Hellen’s room now,” Josephine reassured me with a sigh. “I consider _supplies_ to be part of her travel arrangements. Also, I did not intend she would travel alone. There are several delegations here from the Free Marches, it would be a simple thing to have her included with them when they take ship. From Kirkwall or Ostwick she could sail on to Rivain and be returned to the Qun from there. Unless there was somewhere more locally she wished to go…?”

“You know, I never asked where she was or what she was doing when she got picked up,” I confessed. “I should go ask her _where_ she wants to go.”

Josephine waved me off as I put action to word and ducked back across the hall into Hellen’s rooms.

“I told you to get out,” she reminded me, although her heart clearly wasn’t in it.

“Eat a dick,” I replied casually in English.

She laughed – loudly – in surprise as I cut straight through to her bedroom. Neria was wrapped in the sheets, clearly eager to get some clothes so she could get out of bed.

“We’re working on travel arrangements for you, and it occurred to me that you had to have been in this part of the world in order for Gaspard to have captured you. Where would you like to go? We can arrange to have you taken anywhere.”

“Anywhere?” She asked, surprised. “I thought you would simply… turn me out, so I may find my… my… my local…”

“Right,” I reassured her. “We don’t need to know what you were doing here. Everybody has spies, everybody has their hands in everybody else’s business. And, quite frankly, I wouldn’t be much of a Seer if I didn’t already know what was going on. So don’t worry, I don’t care where you want to go or who you’re reporting to. But you were mistreated at the hands of our enemy, and we’re going to do right by you. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, after all. So. Where would you like to go? Rivain? Somewhere in the Free Marches? Some city or the other in Orlais or Nevarra?’

“Dairsmuid,” she answered immediately. “If I could be taken to Dairsmuid I… I could… I could make my way to Kont-aar.”

“Sure,” I agreed readily. “Let me pass that on to Josephine. She has clothes coming for you. They may not be to your taste or style, but they should be warm and keep you until we can get you home.”

“Th-thank you,” she stammered, and I made my way back through the apartment to have another discussion with Josephine.

“That was vile,” Hellen called out, rather appreciatively, as I passed back through her sitting room.

“I thought you’d like it,” I answered with a smirk. “Despite all your claims to the contrary.”

“You’re sick, Gwen,” she laughed as I ducked into the hallway and quickly crossed to Josephine’s room again.

“Errand girl today?” Twitch asked from his post at the end of the hall, the Charger-on-duty.

“Something like that,” I answered with a wave as I was admitted into Josie’s room.

“She wants to go to Dairsmuid,” I told the Ambassador.

“I will send her to Antiva City with my sister’s party,” Josephine said quickly. “She can take ship from there to Dairsmuid.”

“You think your sister will be safe?”

“With the sheer number of men-at-arms I have hired to take her home? Yes.”

The rest of the afternoon carried on in the same vein. I had to take the news to Leliana of where our _honored guest_ wished to go. I finally intercepted the clothes being delivered to Neria and helped her dress. I described all the articles she had been given, helped her pack them in a way that she could retrieve them, and then helped her downstairs to the servant’s quarters, where Lytha had agreed to assign staff to her and keep her safe and warm until she was ready to leave with the younger Montilyet.

And, slowly, I encouraged Neria to tell me what she had learned from Jacqueline.

Jacqueline spent only a few hours in Orlais before she was picked up by Gaspard. She had appeared near to Halamshiral, and it seemed the woman who had sent her had purposefully brought her _here_ to _bring me peace_ although Gaspard hadn’t let her live for long after learning that. Neria didn’t know what peace she could bring, and Jacqueline hadn’t seemed to know where she was or why. The only other information she had – a detail she mentioned off-handedly, thinking it unimportant – was that Jacqueline had been surprised to see Spring arrive; the blond woman had removed her from Earth the day she found crocus emerging from beneath the thinning snow. Depending on where she lived, she had survived in my world until February at the very earliest. How that could have brought me _peace_ – that there was a war raging in the months after my abandonment of the world – was beyond me.

All this news had to be taken back upstairs and reported to the women on the third floor. While I was upstairs _that_ time, being lectured by Josephine for not yet sitting down and having my hair done for dinner with the Empress, Cullen found me and rather solemnly informed me that they had sorted the various belongings they had found in the basement and had them laid out for me to peruse.

“Tomorrow!” Josephine insisted. “You are already going to be late at this rate.”

“Tomorrow?” I asked Cullen.

He nodded. “We will plan to go down directly after the meeting.”

Josephine, with a breathy apology, dragged me into her room and shut the door.

“Chair! Sit!”

Three hours later my dress for the night was being settled in place.

I had never felt more like a princess.

My dress was velvet, again – everyone seemed to know how sensitive I was to the cold – but the color was a rich sort of plum, or maybe raspberry, depending on the light. It was paired with cream and cloth-of-gold accents and trim, and the mask they produced to cover my eyes and perch on my nose made me think of buttercream.

The dress was cut almost identical to my black dress on the first night, with a high collar and fitted sleeves over a cinched waist and spill of skirts landing in a perfect circle on the floor around my delicate velvet slippers. Instead of stars sewn into the skirt it held a delicate monochrome embroidery of a thousand flowers. I didn’t have names for them all, but they swirled across the dress in such a way as to add depth more so than pattern. Out of direct light, they were indistinguishable.

The uniforms of the rest of the Inquisition were the cream color, with the gold and plum being secondary accents.

I couldn’t help but think, as I entered the Palace on Cullen’s arm to dine again with the Empress, that we looked like we belonged together.

We did, of course – the entire entourage had been outfitted so we appeared as a single, cohesive unit. The Inquisition was more than the sum total of its parts, and we presented as such. My clothing complemented his because it was _designed_ to.

It was something more than that, though. He was stiff military precision, and I was monochromatic flowers. He was blond and cream and gold, I was chestnut and plum. We were a study in careful contrasts, and I couldn’t help but think we paired better than anyone else present.

Celene seemed to agree. “You look well together,” she mentioned over the third course.

“Thank you,” I replied, seeking to be humbler with the Empress than I would appear by admitting _I think so too_.

We had little time to exchange pleasantries, as Hellen kept Celene focused on hammering out the terms of the new peace. Gaspard was gone, as was his sister Florianne and consequently the cause for the civil war… but there were Chevaliers still in the Dales looking to fight, and the fall of one contender for the throne only opened the door for a new one to rise.

Briala made her appearance after the dessert course was cleared away. Hellen and Celene stood to move our little party to the council chamber that Florianne and Gaspard had used in their talks with the Empress. Briala and I followed, Josephine and Cullen behind us. I had to assume the rest of the group went back to the ballroom, as there were no open commands, just discrete gestures and nods.

There was a woman in the council chamber, with jet black hair and a corseted burgundy-and-navy velvet ballgown. I would have recognized her anywhere.

“My lady Morrigan,” I said, immediately dropping a curtsy to rival the one I generally gave Celene. “I am so pleased to finally make your acquaintance.”

“’Tis an honor, I’m sure,” the former Witch of the Wilds answered, with the barest civility. It was for Celene’s benefit, and not mine, I was sure.

There were six chairs in the room we settled in, the nicest of which had a writing desk beside it, also for Celene’s benefit.

I took the seat the farthest out of the way of the proceedings, and Cullen stood just behind and to the right of my chair. Hellen was somewhat in front of me and to my right, while the others sat in a loose semi-circle around Celene, who was some distance to my left. With a quick inquiry and apology, Celene gave me permission to bow briefly over her writing desk. I scrawled several lines of text, blotted the ink, and folded the heavy weight paper while the others in the room got settled and tea was brought around.

I left the paper in the middle of the room, sitting forlornly on the expensive rug in the midst of the chairs and confused occupants, and made my way back to my seat. Cullen had a cup waiting for me; I didn’t know how he knew the way I preferred my tea, but it was unsweetened with a dollop of milk, handed to me with a shy smile.

As I took my seat, I realized the women in the room were all watching me with various degrees of confusion or mistrust.

“Leave it until the end,” I counseled, gesturing at the note. “I will explain it once we have everything settled.”

It was not quite so simple as that.

Briala and Celene had to be brought around to some kind of truce. An armistice had to be reached to bring Gaspard’s chevaliers back into the Orlesian army proper – Cullen was used as the sounding board there, and played his role of Devil’s Advocate to perfection. The Inquisition was given formal rights to the abandoned holdings around Skyhold – which was Hellen’s only requested boon in exchange for saving Celene’s life – and the Empress agreed to hold talks with Anora of Ferelden regarding the official border between the nations, as _The Frostbacks_ was no longer specific enough, with the Inquisition haunting the mountains.

It was hours before it became clear we were nearing the end of the negotiations. Hellen and Celene were beginning the process of signing declarations as quickly as Josephine could write them, with Briala occasionally stepping in to add her name as a witness.

“Now,” Celene said, in a lull between signatures, “Inquisitor, you must take Morrigan with you to Skyhold. She will be my official representative in your Court. Any further correspondence between us can pass through her, if not lady Montilyet. I believe this will serve your purposes as well, as Morrigan has had many a theory on the enemy you face, and may help you strike down Corypheus.”

Morrigan inclined her head as Hellen looked sharply at me. I nodded once and Hellen quickly agreed to Celene’s proposal.

“Morrigan,” I said softly, and the apostate slowly turned toward me, a sneer curling the edge of her lip.

“Yes, _Herald_?”

“The letter on the floor is for you.”

She _snarled_ at me before gesturing with one hand, causing the paper to float off the ground and drift into her waiting hand.

She unfolded it and sniffed. “Did you write this? My son has better penmanship.”

“Your son has been speaking this language far longer than I have,” I reminded her. “And I only learned to read a few months ago.”

She rolled her eyes – discretely, so that Celene could not see – and began to read aloud.

“Celene will give Briala control of the Dales,” she pronounced, and Hellen sat up. Josephine looked at me with concern. Briala and Celene merely looked confused. One of Cullen’s hands came to rest on my shoulder. “Gwen?”

I patted his hand. “She believes me a charlatan,” I said softly. “Let her read.”

“Celene will send Morrigan to Skyhold,” the apostate continued loftily.

Celene looked at me, surprised. “The first you could have guessed, but the second?”

“Morrigan will bring her…” she stopped reading abruptly, and the paper creased from the sudden clench of her fingers.

“Continue, Morrigan,” Celene insisted.

“Morrigan will bring her _eluvian_ to Skyhold,” Morrigan breathed.

Celene raised an eyebrow as Briala coughed, apparently choking a bit in surprise.

“I thought there was a fourth,” Celene prompted when Briala had reined in her shock and the room had fallen uncomfortably silent.

“I will not read it aloud,” Morrigan insisted, folding it and setting it aside.

“You will,” Celene corrected her, the sliver of steel in her voice sending a shiver down my spine.

Morrigan’s eyes slid closed for a moment, as she recited the last line from memory. “Kieran has family in Skyhold, and will be safe there. I swear to you.”

“Kieran?” Josephine asked.

“My son,” Morrigan answered. Her eyes opened and fell upon me, with the sort of calculating stare I used to get from Leliana.

“Do you wish to discuss it here?” I asked her loftily. “Or can we agree that regardless of how I obtained my information, I have it and I have chosen not to use it?”

“You can not know-“

“I can and I do,” I responded.

“She can and she does,” Hellen added softly. “None of us believed, not at first. But it has gone too far, too deep, to be coincidence. We could stay here all night relating the things she has known before they happened, or things she has known that _could not be known_. I’m still unsure of what she said to Leliana to convince her, but she knows things about Solona Amell that-“

“Hellen,” I said sharply, and she instantly fell silent.

Celene’s eyebrows arched gracefully over the lip of her mask. “And here you have my Court believing you are the passive follower, the silent daughter of the Inquisition, a minor advisor with the voice of a Bard. Perhaps you are more Bard than merely the voice?”

I shook my head demurely. “Hellen is the Inquisitor, Your Radiance. Each of her advisors serves a specific role, and she trusts each of us to fill that role. Hellen makes the hard decisions; we simplify her options.”

“You are more than that,” Briala chided me gently.

“She is my sister,” Hellen answered in the same tones. “I have found the family one chooses can be closer, more dear, than the family one is born to. We neither of us have family, and so we have chosen each other. This, then, is the true secret, Celene: she is my strength and my weakness, our heart and our home.”

“Is this what Gaspard sought to eliminate?” Celene asked.

“I have not yet come to any conclusions about precisely what Gaspard sought,” I answered, at Hellen’s nod to cede me the floor. “I know he was looking for me in particular and people from my world in general. He killed Michael and another woman named Jacqueline, but his motive is as yet unclear.”

“Pennat’s other belongings are being sent to Skyhold even as we speak, as will his _piano_ ,” Celene assured me. “Whatever you have found in Gaspard’s manse may be considered yours. Did you wish to keep possession of the property?”

Hellen shook her head. “No, the Inquisition has no need of property in Halamshiral.”

“Very well, we shall take possession of it. We would like to assign it for your usage in perpetuity. Perhaps you will join us in Halamshiral again in the future?”

Josephine very nearly squeaked. Hellen managed to keep her voice smooth as she tabled the invitation. “We only paused in our battle against Corypheus to ensure your own continued reign, Celene. Once that threat is addressed – permanently – we would be delighted to receive another invitation to the Winter Palace.”

I was on Cullen’s arm and out the door a short while later. Morrigan’s eyes were still shooting daggers at my back, but I knew we would have weeks in Skyhold to work out our differences.

“She travelled with Solona?” Cullen asked. “I think I remember…”

“She would have been with Solona when they killed Uldred,” I affirmed as we made our way slowly through the ball room. “Although I don’t know whether she would have been in the party that entered Kinloch. She doesn’t seem like the type to volunteer for a trip to a Circle.”

Cullen snorted a laugh. “A witch of the wilds? No.”

I realized where Cullen was taking us and completely forgot Morrigan. “Are we dancing?”

“If you would like-“

“Yes,” I answered immediately. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Cullen laughed and led me out onto the floor, spinning me gently into his arms and falling into step with the rest of the dancers. “For the record, _no one_ is cutting in. Not even the Empress herself.”

I laughed happily and let myself be lost in the moment.

I was merely a pretty girl at a fancy party, dancing with a handsome man who happened to love me just as much – if not more – than I loved him. We had just earned the gratitude of an Empress, and we stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the greatest forces in the world. There was a war raging outside the walls, an evil lurking who wanted to destroy the world in fire and name himself a god, a less-evil but more-threatening soon-to-be-former ally who wanted to destroy the world in fire to right an old wrong, and somewhere down the line _two_ more Blights brewing. But in this moment, none of that mattered. I was dancing with Cullen, and everything in the world was perfect.

“Gwen?”

I smiled up at him. “Yes?”

“What are you thinking?”

“That right now, in this moment, everything is perfect.”

“You were completely serious about just wanting to dance at the Ball, weren’t you?”

I laughed happily. “Yes! But this is more than just dancing at the Ball. I’m experiencing a rare moment of perfection, and it is even _more_ rare for being recognized. I am enjoying it while I can.”

The orchestra chose that moment to end, and any reply he might have made was swallowed up in the polite applause.

“Cullen, Gwen, come on, we’re rolling out,” Hellen said, walking past us towards the door.

With smiles and sideways glances at each other, I tucked my hand into Cullen’s elbow and we followed our Inquisitor home.

“Last night, tomorrow,” Cullen said as we walked out to where the carriage waited for us.

“Do we have a plan?”

“We are going to _enjoy this_ ,” Leliana chimed in from just over my shoulder where she walked beside Josephine. “We could all use a little celebration before putting our noses back to the grindstone.”

“And Leliana wants one last chance to squeeze every ounce of gossip out of these walls as she can,” I added primly.

“Also true,” Josephine agreed.

Cullen shook his head with a smile. “Maker save me from the machinations of women.”

“If I had a sovereign every time you said that…” Leliana laughed.

“Evening, ser,” Malcolm said with a tip of his imaginary hat as we reached the carriage.

“Evening, Malcolm,” I answered happily.

Cullen handed me up into the carriage, Leliana and Vivienne hard on my heels. Devon’s voice called to the horses and we drove back to the manse at the head of the Inquisition procession.

“One more night,” Vivienne sighed.

“Will you miss it?” Leliana asked.

“I always miss it, my dear,” Vivienne answered, more open than I had ever heard her. “Much as I am sure you miss it every day you are away. Even Gwen is beginning to love the nights at court.”

I smiled at the Iron Lady. “For me it is a vacation, a holiday. I do not know if I could be content with this as a way of life, especially once we have run out of my foresight.”

Vivienne smiled softly. “With the right company, you could learn to thrive here, my dear. Do not close yourself to the option; your life need not always be spent in Skyhold.”

I nodded my acceptance of her statement, but the thought did not sit well with me.

We had a long way to go, yet, before Hellen threw down Corypheus and shattered the orb that had opened the Breach. Her companions would split up after that, for awhile – perhaps longer, if I convinced Solas to abandon his plan. It was yet too soon to be concerned with _after_ …

…but the possibility loomed, for the first time in my memory.

I smiled to myself as I put it aside, intentionally declaring it _a thought for another day_.


	48. Halamshiral: Night Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen gives herself a quest, and I give you the cameo I promised.
> 
> (also with a re-post of Doodles' Sun card for Hellen... for reasons.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what? -F- the schedule. I've got pt 3 finished, and I want to post, so I'm posting.
> 
> I absolutely adore everyone who reads my fics and takes the time to comment or even just pounds that kudos button, so you all deserve something from me for Valentine's Day.
> 
> From MaryDragon with Love

The last day of the Ball and the celebration of Satinalia dawned cold and bleak. The air promised snow, which served to dampen the mood, for me at least.  The premise of a five-day ride back to Skyhold through fresh snow was not one I relished. I said as much to Cullen as we dressed for our last Brunch meeting with Hellen.

“We will hit snow regardless,” Cullen answered my concern with no happiness of his own. “If Skyhold isn’t getting snow yet, they will be soon. All the dispatches from home speak of the wind rising and the ice thickening. The Frostbacks are known for their storms.”

“Aren’t you the bluebird of fucking happiness,” I grumbled.

“Do you doubt my ability to keep you warm on the trip?” he asked with a smile.

I had to stop and think for a moment before I trusted myself to answer. “That feels like a trap.”

“Trap?” Cullen laughed. “How is that a trap?”

“There’s no right answer! I’m _never_ warm… not outside in the winter, at least, and I _always_ trust you, so _trusting_ you to keep me _warm_ is a combination of two absolutes. It’s an unstoppable force hitting an immovable object.”

“What is an unstoppable force?”

I shrugged. “It is a thought experiment, more or less. If something that cannot be stopped hits something than cannot be moved, what happens?”

Cullen frowned. “I... don't know.”

“Therefore…”

His expression cleared and he laughed again. “I know it is possible for you to be warm. Warm and unclothed, even, if my memory of the last few nights is correct. Surely it’s not that much of a stretch to believe I can keep you warm on a road march. I am quite used to traveling in the winter in Thedas, after all.”

“I really wish you wouldn’t use your _keeping me warm_ at night as a reason you’d be able to keep me warm on the road. They really aren’t the same thing.”

Cullen caught me by the arm and drew me into his arms, his hands at the small of my back pressing us together. “They could be.”

There was something about the set of his jaw and seriousness of his tone that left me breathless and flushed. “Cullen….”

“In the snow, we’ll all be under heavy cloaks, and the storm will cover us. If you can keep your voice down-“

“We can’t talk about this right now,” I gasped, pulling away. “We have another full day of this damn Ball to survive first.”

“As you wish,” Cullen agreed mildly as he let me escape. “I am more of the opinion that thoughts like this will get me _through_ the last night of this damn Ball.”

“Whatever dress Josephine sticks me in will surely help in that endeavor,” I replied primly.

Cullen sighed as I finished my morning routine and strode to the door. Cullen was buttoning the cuffs of his coat and following at a slower pace. “Maker save me from the machinations of women,’ he said, and I laughed, as I was sure he intended me to.

“You think Josephine is dressing me with your torment in mind?”

“I know it as an inescapable fact, confirmed by her own voice in simple language.” He affected a fairly accurate representation of Josie’s accent and said, “Of course I did, Commander. It was the most reasonable solution, after all.”

“She didn’t!” I laughed.

Cullen grinned at me and followed me into the hall. “She did. Given everything you know about the gossip at the war table, that should not surprise you.”

“Oh, no, I’m sure she _did_ it. I can’t believe she _admitted_ to it.”

Cullen twisted his mouth into a caricature of a frown. “Proudly, even.”

“Do you still begrudge her for it?” I asked as we reached the door to Hellen’s rooms.

“Not even remotely,” he answered smoothly, grabbing the latch and holding it closed for a moment before I could swing the door open. The action left me trapped between him and the door, and he pressed his free hand against the door frame opposite the latch so his arms formed the last two walls to my very comforting prison.

I stood up on my tiptoes to brush a kiss to his throat, and then pressed down on his thumb to trip the latch to the door and slide into the room as he shivered. He had collected his composure when he followed me into the meeting a moment later.

The idea of these stolen moments following us to Skyhold – a kiss on the way into the war room, a thousand isolated pockets of privacy we could make a habit of finding – made me even more impatient for the Ball to end. Even the travel between here and there was suddenly less daunting.

Amazing, how much easier life could be when you had someone to enjoy it with.

I felt – not for the last time – a pang of regret over Patrick. What would he think of all this? What role could he have taken in this world? _God_ , what would he have said if he’d been there when I met Cullen? It was almost funny enough to prompt an audible laugh, if it wasn’t also so damn _sad_.

I let myself miss him. I let myself feel a surge of love and longing. And then I let it wane, and moved on.

_Look how far you have come_ , I thought to myself as I reached up to brush away a tear caught up in my eyelashes. Cullen tilted his head as he smiled at me questioningly, and I returned the smile as I shook my head. _Nothing_ , I mouthed. He nodded, and I smiled a bit wider.

It was true. It was nothing… nothing to feel guilt or anxiety or sadness about.

I missed out on the entire meeting – which seemed to be a theme – as I wondered about how I could have come so far and not have noticed. I missed him – I would always miss him – but the loss of Patrick wasn’t debilitating anymore. I could think of him and Cullen in conjunction and not feel anything more than a gentle sort of sadness at lost opportunities and the end of something that was so thoroughly good. I was finding it easier and easier to remember it as it had been: a relationship that ended, just as all relationships must ultimately end. Patrick had loved me until the day he died, and I could live out my days comfortable in the knowledge that the last thing he had heard me say was _I love you_.

“Are you alright?” Cullen asked as the meeting adjourned. “You escaped having to report on your evening by spending it all with Hellen, but still… I can’t help but think you were somewhere else entirely for the last hour and a half.”

“I love you,” I told him by way of reply.

The concern didn’t disappear from his face, but his affect softened. “I love you too.”

“I love you _most_ ,” I continued, and Cullen quirked an eyebrow but stayed silent. He knew I had more to say… he didn’t know me as well as Patrick did, but he knew me as well – if not better – than anyone alive on this planet.

“I love Cole. I love Hellen. I love Dorian. I love Eleanor and Dagna and hell, even Sera and Solas. I will always love my parents and Patrick’s parents and _Patrick_. I don’t have to choose. I can love you all.”

Cullen pulled me roughly into his arms, almost crushing me against his chest. I could hear the rattle in his breath and knew I’d driven him to the very precipice of some overwhelming emotion in a relatively public space. We stood still to one side of the room as everyone else – even Hellen – filed out.

“I’m sorry,” I breathed as the door gently swung shut on Hellen’s heels, “but you did ask.”

“I did,” he answered, a bit brokenly. His arms were a vice around me – not constrictive, but not yielding either. “But I did not expect… I never expect…”

“Cullen?” I pulled back as much as he would let me, tipping my head to try to get some idea of his emotional state with a look at his face. “Cullen, what’s wrong?”

“I want… I have wanted, for so long, for you to let me in. To be a name on the rather exclusive list of people you confided in. You have always held me at arm’s length… we talked about books and the Chant but it was always so… so… _clinical_. You know everything about me, and I know _nothing_ about you. You’ve always known I loved you, but I had no inkling you felt the same until the moment you tried to say it in my office, the night you first warded my dreams. For a long time I doubted you _would_ love again, much less chose to love  _me_.”

He stopped, face twisted with the effort of putting words to his feelings. I tightened my arms around him and waited.

“I need you,” he said in halting, heavily accented English, “to let me in.”

“Cullen,” I gasped.

“I want,” he continued roughly in what he once only called Qunlat, “to know you… as well as… you know me. I want to know…” he huffed out an exasperated breath before scowling in concentration and trying again. “I want to know… what you are thinking. I want to know _you_.”

“You don’t want to be surprised anymore when I tell you what I’m thinking, especially when the answer is _I love you_ ,” I told him in English, dazedly.

He nodded, still frowning deeply.

I had a thousand questions for him, but none of them mattered.

At some point in the intervening months, Cullen had learned my native tongue. I could guess that anyone could pick up a phrase or two, but this was indicative of a concerted effort. Judging by what he’d said, he’d learned it expressly for the purpose of communicating _with me_. I didn’t care how, I didn’t care when, I didn’t care who had helped or how he had managed it with everything else he had going on. I grasped his coat with both hands, and with every ounce of leverage I could muster, drove him backwards against the wall.

He staggered a bit, landed heavily to lean against the wall, and I pulled his mouth down to mine as I twined one leg around his waist.

Cullen recovered quickly from his surprise, lifting me so I could wrap my other leg around him as he rolled us so that I was pinned between him and the wall.

“I will tell you anything,” I gasped in English, when he let me up for air and kissed his way roughly down my neck. “God, Cullen, anything. Anything you want. Everything I have is yours. Tell me where to start.”

“Common,” he grunted as his teeth scraped my collarbone and I arched against him in surprise. “Maker, I can’t… can’t kiss you and… and think at the same time.”

“OUT,” Hellen’s voice cut in. We froze.

“I don’t care what happened,” the Vashoth continued, standing just inside the open doorway and glaring at us. “I don’t care how badly you needed to make up right then. You’re not doing it in my room. Out. Out! OUT!”

Cullen took a step back and let me slide down to my feet. We spent a moment straightening our clothes, and then I made a show of reaching up and brushing Cullen’s hair back into place.

“OUT!” Hellen insisted again, although I could see the laugh in her eyes.

I took Cullen’s hand and pulled him into the hallway.

“Ser,” one of his soldiers said, handing him a missive. “This came for you during the meeting. And you requested to be taken downstairs to show the Herald what we found in the basement after today’s meeting.”

“Right, Crews, thank you,” Cullen sighed. He glanced sideways at me. “Shall we?”

I nodded, immediately sobered. “Yes. It needs to be done. Send someone to fetch Leliana, we’ll save some time.”

 

*

 

Jacqueline’s belongings were not what I expected.

I expected the red chuck taylors, of course. I expected the polyester blend clothing, the puff jacket, the empty vials of iodine and needles blunt enough to resist puncturing skin. I expected the thin vinyl wallet and the tattered family photos. I expected the driver’s license and dozens of mementos.

I didn’t expect the address.

“She lived across the street from my brother,” I gasped as I read the laminated card.

“You knew her?” Leliana asked. Cullen laid a hand to my shoulder but stayed silent.

“No. This card… it is an identification card. A driver’s license, specifically. It proves someone can drive the… well, you saw how we got around.”

Leliana nodded. “I did.”

“You have to be trained on how to operate them. This proves she’s had training. It also gives her name, physical description, and place of residence. She lived in my hometown, on my brother’s street… and judging by the house number, she lived across the street.”

“So she knew your  _brother_ ,” Leliana clarified.

I nodded blankly. “And if she was still alive…”

“Your family could be, too,” Cullen surmised.

I nodded. “That would have been the peace I was brought. I could have been told they’d died painlessly, or that they thought I had died painlessly and carried on with their heads high. Or maybe Andraste stopped off and told them I’d been saved, and they weren’t worried about me. I don’t know. But whatever she was going to tell me, it was going to bring me closure.”

“Which you now cannot have,” Leliana concluded.

I nodded again.

“Anything else of use here?” Cullen asked.

“Things I can give Dagna,” I sighed. “Syringes and needles she could copy the design of. No weapons, nothing with a date on it, nothing that tells us where she was or what was…” I realized what this 21st century girl was missing and grabbed her purse, crushing it in my hands to make sure it was empty. I went back to her body – frozen, now, but yet unburned – and clenched my jaw, looking everywhere but her face as I rifled her clothing.

It was in the cup of her bra, which was the third place I looked, to be fair. I checked her pockets and her socks first.

“Is that like your-“

“It’s a _cell phone_ ,” I confirmed, using the English words for which there was no Common equivalent. “She hid it. That implies it’s still _useful_.” I tried to turn it on – a different model than mine, but an on button is an on button – and got nothing.

“Dead,” I grunted.

“And that means…?” Leliana prompted.

“Nothing. Everything. She could have been holding onto it out of hope. She could have used up the battery. I won’t know until I get it back to Skyhold and put it on my charger.”

“So we have a week to wait,” Cullen said, with the air of a question.

“Yes. We leave for Skyhold in the morning. I put this on the charger the day we get back. Give it a day to get some juice. Power it up the next night.”

“Anything else of use?” Leliana asked, gesturing across the table.

I shook my head. “No. But things could be hidden. Jacqueline hid her phone down here; there could be other things hidden in Gaspard's manse or elsewhere in Halamshiral. Maybe have Cole do a sweep? Box all of this up, and everything else we might find. Celene is having everything in English script sent to Skyhold, all of this should go there too. Maybe you and Dagna can put your heads together and make a vault somewhere in the lower levels for all of this to be stored.”

“And in the meantime?” Cullen asked.

He was looking at the shoes. _There, but for the grace of God, go I_. “We have one more night to shirk our responsibilities, and I haven’t danced with everyone in the Inquisition yet.”

He didn’t quite laugh – but damn it I _tried_.

The dress I was given for our last night of the Ball made it impossible to _not_ want to dance. It was a crisp, cheery, yellow-gold silk that left my shoulders completely bare as it crossed my bust in a halter style neckline. The silk crossed again between my shoulder blades in a sort of racerback. A wide sash of blue cinched my waist and then dropped to the floor behind me, a slash of sapphire against the golden yellow. The front of the skirt was scalloped, allowing more of the blue to be visible in the form of an underskirt. The material had an odd sort of weightless grace to it that made me want to continually spin in place, just to watch it lift and settle. There was a pair of sapphire blue gloves that left my fingers only half covered, fingertips free, and extended all the way up to the pit of my arms. My hair was curled and pinned into ringlets all over my head, with several breaking free to frame my face and tickle my shoulders. My mask for the evening was the same sapphire blue as the accents on my dress, but barely more than a band across my eyes, thinned to barely a wire over my nose and coming to an elegant point just above my ears.

I didn’t realize where the style had come from until I saw the exact same dress on Hellen, colors reversed but otherwise identical. It was a similar cut and style as Hellen had worn the first night, although now she was a noontime sky rather than a fiery dawn. Her gloves and – surprise, surprise – mask were the same sapphire blue as mine, and that little similarity kept us from seeming total opposites. Her hair was down, as I’d never seen it, hanging in a single long braid that someone – I suspected the Ambassador – had threaded dozens of bright yellow flowers into.

“You wear it better,” she said after we’d stared at each other for a moment.

“Not hardly,” I scoffed.

She grinned and offered me her arm, and I took it with a wisp of a curtsy, allowing the Inquisitor to escort me to the Ball.

Josephine, Leliana, and Vivienne were all wearing dresses of a similar cut and color, although like the Inquisition uniforms they were each tailored to best reflect the individual styles and mannerisms of the women wearing them. The uniforms everyone else wore were resplendent blue, with the exception of Cullen, whose coat was largely gold but for blue around the cuffs and collar. He was slightly less buttoned-down this evening, and a high-collared sapphire blue shirt was visible at his throat.

“Your plan for the evening?” Cullen inquired lightly as we disembarked from our carriages in the Winter Palace courtyard.

“I’m dancing with everyone,” I informed him primly.

He laughed. “Everyone? There are several hundred people here.”

“Everyone in the Inquisition,” I amended.

“May I have the first dance, then, before you are swept away?”

I gave him my best smile, delighting in the way he seemed dazzled for a moment. “First and last, if you would.”

“It would be my honor,” he replied, and led me straight to the floor.

“It goes without saying that you are, without exception, the most beautiful woman in attendance again tonight,” he murmured as we fell in with the dancers already assembled on the floor.

I discarded a dozen cheeky, smartass replies before finally saying, “Thank you. I love that you think so.”

“Think so?” he laughed. “Oh, I am not voicing my opinion. It is the general consensus, written plainly on the face of everyone who glances our direction.”

“And you’re so sure they’re not looking at you?”

He blushed lightly, but quickly laughed it off, shaking his head. “I am flattered to be invisible in your shadow.”

“Ballocks,” I countered, and he laughed again.

The dance was over far too soon. “Thank you, love,” he whispered, bowing as he backed away.

For one heart-stopping moment, it occurred to me that _nobody else knew_ I intended to dance with everyone in the Inquisition that night. There was no one to take my hand once Cullen stepped away, and the idea of chasing after him – or, worse, standing alone on the dance floor – was humiliating, for the Inquisition if not for myself.

My fear was so brief as to be utterly unremarked upon by anyone around me, as Cullen had only taken two steps away before my hand was caught up and I was spun gently into the arms of my next partner.

“I would not let you stand alone,” Cole told me in his perpetually low tones.

“I should have known better,” I replied happily. “When did you learn to dance?”

“Right now,” he answered, frowning. I realized after a moment that he was listening to the thoughts of the people around us, picking up the steps from them.

“You’re adorable,” I said, in lieu of interrupting his concentration to drag him into a bear hug.

He didn’t reply, his face twisted up in effort.

It was legitimately the single most endearing thing I had ever seen in my life.

When the music ended, he breathed a happy sigh of relief and then acted on my hugging impulse, lifting me gently off my feet. He set me down, sketched an awkward sort of bow, and then vanished as only Cole can do.

Standing directly behind where Cole previously had stood was Blackwall.

“My lady,” he intoned formally, gracefully bowing as he extended one hand. I returned the formality with a curtsy before placing my hand in his. He spun me once, set his hand properly on my waist, and then we were off.

“Cullen came to find me,” he informed me once we were in a place in the steps where conversation was possible. “He said you wished to dance with all of us, and that I should take the next turn.”

“He did?” After his anger upon retrieving Blackwall from Val Royeaux, it was an unexpected gesture.

“I took it as an apology,” Blackwall asserted.

“Ah,” I said, and fell silent. Thom was a little rusty, but the man could dance. He was easy to follow, and I was inclined to enjoy each moment as it came.

“Thank you,” he said a moment later.

“For what?” I asked with a smile.

“You want the list?”

I laughed, and after a moment he joined me.

“Sera found a _case_ of Flames of Our Lady in one of the cellars. It has been… recruited… into the Inquisition. We thought it might help you in your quest for dominance.”

“Are we waiting until we get back to Skyhold?” I asked, pausing as the dance form separated us briefly. “Or are we going to crack that bitch open on the road?”

He laughed then, loudly – almost too loudly for the setting, but not quite – and counseled we wait until we were home. “I have the utmost faith in you, but should the battle go ill, our best defense is Skyhold.”

“Discretion is the better part of Valor, neh?”

The dance ended then, as Blackwall put his head down and _shook_ with laughter, rather than draw too much attention to us. “I need to remember that one,” he said, as he regained his composure. A moment later he was bowing as he stepped back. “My lady.”

“Twee,” Sera said with a grin as she stepped in the space Blackwall had just vacated. “Do you really wanna dance with _everyone_?”

“Oh, shit yes,” I cooed, reaching out for Sera.

She shifted, moving my hand onto her waist.

“I don’t lead,” she said, and her voice was so soft as to almost make me think she was embarrassed.

Somehow, I could almost hear the truth underlying the statement. _I don’t lead_ as actually _I don’t dance_.

“Well, then, we’ll muddle through it together!” I laughed, and pushed us off into the steps.

Sera had the grace of a dancer, she was simply lacking skill. And patience. And social graces.

I wanted to dance with _her_ , though, not some well-behaved facsimile. I would just apologize to Josephine later.

In all, it didn’t go badly. We made up pseudonyms for all the random Orlesian couples dancing around us, and did a rather terrible job of keeping our giggles to a respectable level. As the music wound down, we both had tears streaming down our faces from our antics. We sketched excessively flamboyant bows to one another and she pranced off the floor.

Garrett Hawke took her place.

Thank god, too, because the next dance was something fast and Antivan. The Champion of Kirkwall – resolutely still wearing the same blood-evoking ensemble – put one hand firmly on the small of my back and whipped me through the steps.

We didn’t have time for words, for quips, for comments or innuendo. When the conductor of the orchestra saw there were people able to keep up with the pace of the dance, he sped up. Apparently, it was being played down-tempo for the benefit of the Orlesians.

It was like nothing I had ever done. I felt a bead of sweat form at the base of my neck and trickle all the way down my back. When it hit Hawke’s hand and soaked into the silk, I saw the mage quirk an eyebrow at me. A second later a wave of cold swept over me, the sweat vanishing in an instant. He smiled – _god I love magic_ – and then hastened to keep up as the maestro sped up once more.

By the time the orchestra ended in a sweeping crescendo and the dance swept to a halt, there were only three couples remaining on the floor. Hawke and I ended almost in the precise center. To my left was Vivienne and a black-draped Orlesian woman I later came to find out was Bastien’s widow. To my right was Josephine and a blond male elf, wearing layers of leather dyed such a dark blue as to appear almost black. He released a – rather flustered – Josephine and I realized the elf had been leading the Ambassador. Who the hell-

“Hawke!” the elf laughed, striding over to us as everyone who hadn’t been able to keep up applauded our apparently superior skill from the sidelines. The orchestra took a moment to breathe. Vivienne led the other women off the floor. “I haven’t seen you since-“

“Jesus Mary and Joseph, you’re Zevran Araini,” I gasped as I put his heavy accent together with his perceived status over Josephine and comfort on a dance floor.

“I don’t know who those other three people are, but yes, I am Zevran. You know of me!”

Hawke snorted. “Gwen knows of everyone, Zev, don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Gwen?” he asked, reaching out to take my hand from Hawke’s. “Just the lady I had come to see. I would introduce myself but… well.”

I laughed as Hawke excused himself and other pairs started returning to the dance floor. The orchestra was pulling itself together to begin again, and Zevran positioned us at the head of the queue.

The music began – something slow and stately, to make up for the veritable cha-cha we’d just finished – and I would have been disappointed if it didn’t give us a chance to chat. I doubted I would ever have a second opportunity.

“I know Josephine asked… well. I know you were helping me, and I greatly appreciate not being dead.”

He laughed. “I finally unwound the tangle and brought the answer to your Ambassador, just in time to find out you’d be shot, avenged, revived, and avenged again. The Crows had ceased operations in Skyhold when a rumor struck that the contract was a feint to kill as many of their assassins as possible. I believe your Nightingale had a hand in that, no?”

I shook my head. “I would not be surprised, but I had not heard of such a plan. I was kept in the dark once it became clear I didn’t take the threat seriously.”

“No?” Zevran seemed torn between offense and surprise. “A dozen assassination attempts, escalating to the Antivan Crows, was not a serious threat?”

I shook my head again, this time with a smile. “Any Crow worth a shit was already sent after you, to disastrous effect. And anyone they sent to us couldn’t get past Cole.”

“Cole?” Zevran inquired.

“We were only just introduced, and already you want secrets?”

“Oh, ho! I was given your hand when we met. Then I was given a name, and a dance, and a compliment. We were escalating our rendezvous so quickly, I assumed secrets to be the next logical step. Unless there was another direction you wished for this to go…?”

“Smooth,” I laughed, shaking my head. “Very smooth.”

“Is that a euphemism where you come from?”

It was physically painful to _not_ laugh in his face, but I managed. “No. Sorry, Zevran.”

“Please, my friends call me-“

“Zev,” I finished. “Thank you.”

“Since _secrets_ seems to be the, shall we say, _safer_ route, what else do you know about me? Besides what my friends call me and that I am the world’s greatest lover.”

“You were recruited by someone who was royally hard to kill, and who sheltered you from the Crows in exchange for your help in stopping the Blight. Your mother was Dalish, and at some point Solona gave you a pair of gloves that reminded you of her. You love the smell of Antiva City, and Antivan leather makes you homesick. I would assume that’s all you wear, now that you’re a force of nature in the world. You met Hawke in Kirkwall some time ago. You killed Isabela’s husband, to her eternal gratitude. You made a choice at the foot of a staircase in a Denerim back alley-“

“Enough,” he breathed. “And you wonder why someone wanted you killed?”

“I wonder why someone wanted me killed _before_ I started telling people what I know,” I replied. "It made perfect sense once I started talking."

“Tell me,” Zev said a moment later, “what you know of Morrigan’s son.”

I met his eyes and smiled. “I know she’s here. Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

“Ah, but that does not tell me what _you_ know.”

“Zev,” I told him, lacing my tone with gentle disappointment. “I would not divulge a secret about a friend. And I would _never_ divulge a secret about a child.”

We finished the dance in silence. As Zev bowed over my hand, he stopped an inch away from pressing his lips against my knuckles. “I am glad to know you, Gwendolyn Rhiannon Murray. Even moreso, now.”

He turned to leave – running almost squarely into Leliana and sweeping her into the next dance rather than the two of them tumble to the floor. I could hear them both laughing as they moved away.

“Lethallan,” a soft voice called from my left, and I turned and stepped immediately into Solas’ arms.

“It has been a long time,” he chuckled, “but I believe I can remember the steps.”

“I have the utmost faith in you, ha’hren,” I replied.

“Lethallin,” he corrected me gently.

I was grateful for the mask, simple as it was, while I fought to regain my composure. “Lethallin,” I echoed.

With a nod, Solas led us into the dance.

We did not speak. We did not break eye contact. And we did not, either of us, stop smiling. Not for one second.

The dance ended with a quick press of our cheeks together and then he was gone.

Leliana took his place, fresh out of Zevran’s embrace, and while my smile stayed firmly in place we didn’t stop talking while we were together. Nothing we said was even remotely important – the sort of mindless blather everyone else was spouting on the floor – but it was _fun_ and it reminded me how _damn happy_ Leliana was to simply be here.

I found out from Cassandra – who took Leliana’s place – that Cullen was finding and directing people onto the floor to dance with me. “It appears he is quite smitten with you,” she hazarded.

“Oh, I hope so,” I breathed.

Cassandra smiled shyly.

“I happy for you. For you both.”

“Thank you,” I replied, doing my best not to gush. I had suspected Cassandra supported my relationship with Cullen, but to _hear it_ … “You are the best kind of friend, Cassandra, and I am pleased to be able to claim even a bit of that for my own.”

“I could say… precisely the same of you. Thank you.”

Dorian followed Cassandra, to be in replaced in turn by Vivienne. They seemed to have some kind of unspoken contest or rivalry on the dance floor, and swapped partners in a manner akin to throwing down challenges. I avoided them both from then on.

Josephine was next. “How goes your conquest, Lady Murray?”

“Well, Lady Montilyet,” I replied. “I am missing Bull and Varric alone, aside from Hellen. I doubt I could get Lyal or any of the rest of the scouts and soldiers to dance.”

“Bull tried to claim last dance, and was embroiled in a friendly conflict with the Commander when last I saw him,” Josephine informed me. “Hellen has agreed to be second-to-last, regardless of which gentleman claims your last dance.”

“And Varric?”

Josephine’s mouth twisted, briefly, in a frown. “I believe Master Tethras is still angry with you from the incident with his… his contact.”

“Bother,” I sighed. “Perhaps I will fail in my quest, then.”

“Ah, but I have watched you this evening, and it seems plain you enjoyed the attempt.”

I grinned at her. “I did.”

We gossiped idly for a moment before I decided to force an issue. “Josephine, do you want to dance with Hellen?”

Her eyes widened, but before she could answer, I added, “I just want to know what _you want_. Not what you think is right or proper or, Maker save me, think Hellen wants. What do _you_ want?”

“I would love to dance with the Inquisitor,” Josephine whispered, after a long and tense pause.

I merely nodded.

When Josephine and I bowed to each other at the end of the dance, my eyes fell upon none other than Varric Tethras.

“Hawke said… well. Here I am.”

I was as much taller than Varric as Hellen was taller than me, but that didn’t seem to matter. I curtsied to him, extended my hand, and let the dwarf lead.

For the record, Varric can _dance_. Maybe he took lessons with Hawke and Hawke’s mother Leandra. Maybe it was something he picked up in the merchant’s guild. Maybe it came from all the time he spent telling stories and hanging out with Bards in tap rooms. In the end, what mattered was that the mouthy little shit was _fun_ on the dance floor. He had a sort of flare that was as dramatic as Dorian but more as punctuation than a call for attention.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked him when the steps gave me an opening.

“Nope,” he grunted.

“Ever?”

“Nope.”

“Fair enough,” I allowed.

We finished in silence, which was a shame… if he hadn’t still been mad at me it would have been a great time.

“For the record,” I said right before we broke apart, “my issue is that she hurt you. Still hurts you. I don’t like you hurt.”

He froze for just long enough for me to know he’d heard me.

“So you’re not going to admit you were wrong?”

I blinked slowly. “It was wrong for me to do it somewhere you could see it.”

With a sigh that sounded suspiciously like a smothered laugh, Varric turned on his heel and left.

I turned slowly when I realized no one was immediately there to take his place.

I took two steps towards the stairs – it was apparently time for me to take a break – and immediately found Bull.

“For the record,” he said as he spun me into place, “I’m only down here now because the Boss ordered me. Cullen lost the bet.”

“The bet?” I laughed as we began to dance. “What did you bet?”

“Whether or not Varric would come down,” Bull answered easily. “I said Hawke would make him, Cullen said he was still too pissed. I win, I get last dance. Cullen wins, _he_ gets last dance. Boss stepped in and said I had to come down now because you were standing alone.”

“I owe her my gratitude, then,” I told him gently and he smiled. “What’s the big deal over who dances with me last?”

“I had you first,” Bull said, his tone hinting at being defensive. “I kind of miss the old days, coming into a tent full of Chargers to find you ass-deep in bed rolls, snoring to beat the band. I’ve never had someone trust me the second they laid eyes on me before. I didn’t figure you were real. Lost a lot of time over that hangup.”

“If I’m Charger Mom,” I quipped, at a loss for anything to say to mirror the gravity of Bull’s confession, “what are you and I?”

“Oh, I’m not their dad,” Bull laughed. “I’m their Boss. Their Commander. It is a strictly professional relationship.”

“Right,” I said with a smile. His lip twitched in response. “And, besides, Charger Mom is an honorary position. No familiarity implied.”

“Of course,” Bull replied stiffly. His lip twitched again.

When our dance ended I pulled him down to my level so I could press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re not fooling anyone, you know,” I told him softly.

“Can’t pull one over on you, little spy,” he fondly replied.

“Two more and we’re getting this show on the road,” Hellen said, sweeping me out of Bull’s arms.

“Already?” I laughed.

“You’ve been out here for _hours_ ,” Hellen informed me. “I mean, I know you suck with time in general, but _still_.”

“Really? So you’re saying I’ve literally danced the night away?”

“More or less,” she laughed.

After being – literally – put through the paces by everyone else in the Inquisition that night, I could definitively say Hellen was the best dancer we had on the floor. “I wish I could have seen you with Florianne,” I sighed. “You must have looked incredible.”

Hellen snorted. “What you should regret missing is Celene and I later on that night.”

I blinked at her. “How did I not hear about that?”

She grinned toothily. “Nobody was supposed to talk about it in front of you. I knew you’d be angry for missing it.”

“You danced with _Celene_?” I demanded. “After you killed Florianne? That night?”

“Yes. Last dance that night. She took the opportunity to thank me. Girl’s got moves.”

“And your last dance tonight?” I prompted.

“Is this one,” she said with a gentler smile. “I’m going to round up the troops while you and Cullen have your devastating finale.”

“No you’re not.”

Her eyebrows raised, but I didn’t give her a chance to argue.

“Hellen. I’m your sister. Your friend. Your biggest supporter. I am not making a suggestion. I am telling you. It is in your best interests to ask Josie for the last dance.”

“Gwen, we talked about this-“

“And you’re wrong. If you’re too nervous to take her on the dance floor take her out onto one of the balconies, but _dance with her_. She wants you to.”

“She… How do you know that?”

“Did you seriously just ask me that? Me?”

Hellen drew in a deep breath and huffed out an exasperated sigh. “Sorry.”

“You need to trust me on this one, Hellen.”

“I always trust you,” she answered softly.

She fell silent and I only gave her a moment to think. “Tell me you’ll do it.”

“What?” She asked, snapping her attention back to me.

“Tell me you’ll ask her to dance.”

“Gwen-“

“Hellen Adaar, don’t force me to make a scene. You’ll disappoint her twice.”

There are no words for the look I inspired on Hellen’s face. If I didn’t know she loved me – and was bonded to a spirit dedicated to keeping me alive – I would have been convinced of my own imminent mortality.

“Cullen and I will serve as your diversion,” I said in a lighter tone.

It made her laugh – thank god – and then she nodded. “I will ask her, Gwen.”

We carried on in silence, then, and I let myself simply enjoy how good we looked together – complements rather than opposites – and revel in the feeling of being a pretty girl dancing at a Ball. It was such a bizarre feeling – I had never felt pretty before coming to Thedas, never learned to dance in such a formal manner, never had the means or reason to own a trunk full of ball gowns – that I could use it to anchor me here, in the present. This was an experience utterly unique to my time in Thedas, and it was another huge step away from Gwendolyn Murray, American nurse, and towards Gwen of the Inquisition, Gwennie the Seer.

“You look like you belong here,” Hellen said, breaking me from my reverie.

“I feel like I belong here.”

“Figures,” she grunted. “Fucking _Orlesians_. Cullen will hate it here, mark my words. You’re better off in Ferelden.”

“ _Here_ didn’t have to mean _Orlais_ ,” I corrected her softly.

Her sudden beaming smile was like the dawn.

The music abruptly ended – I hadn’t been paying attention, either – and we broke apart.

“Go ask her, fool,” I reminded her.

“Yes, ser,” she replied, and we both fled the floor.

The orchestra was taking another quick breath – an indicator that the last dance was an epic one – and I found Cullen almost immediately.

“Did this actually work out?” Cullen asked, incredulous. “Did you get through everyone?”

“Zevran and Hawke jumping in seems to have made it work perfectly,” I happily reported. I squared my shoulders and took on a serious affect. “Commander Cullen, would you do me the honor of this last dance?”

The smile that slowly bloomed across his face was beautiful to behold.

“The honor would be mine,” he answered, and took my hand.

The crowd parted for us, and he took me straight to the center of the dance floor-

-to find Hellen and Josephine already there.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen said, inclining his head to each of them. “Ambassador.”

“Commander,” Josephine replied in kind. “Seeress.”

Just then Cassandra and Leliana appeared behind Cullen and I. “Seneschal,” Hellen greeted Leliana with a nod. “Seeker,” she said to Cassandra. We had spent so much time standing around the table in the war room, the six of us, that we felt almost out of place for a moment. I should have been standing between Cassandra and Hellen, with Cullen across the table from me between Leliana and Josephine. After a moment, there were bows and curtsies all around, and the Inquisitor and her advisors led the final dance.

At some point I became aware that Celene was on the floor, dancing with Briala.

Nobody was looking at Hellen and Josephine with any degree of suspicion.

Which was great, because one glance was enough to tell they were each hopelessly smitten.

“I had heard Leliana mention it,” Cullen confided when we had a little distance from Hellen and Josie, “but I did not realize how far it had gone.”

“I am happy for them,” I replied, keeping my tone light. “I had to browbeat Hellen into asking her to dance, but the look on Josie’s face…”

“If this is your doing I love you for it,” Leliana said when the forms brought us together.

“Oh, to be loved by you,” I sighed.

Cassandra laughed. “It was a long time coming.”

“What? My declaration of love for Gwen? Or those two admitting to themselves-“

“Gossip!” Cullen cut her off. “Maker save me from gossiping women.”

“You were saying not two minutes ago-“ I started to say, only to have Cullen spin me away from Cassandra and Leliana. Their laughter faded away behind us.

“You’re supposed to be on my side, my lady,” he told me dryly. I could see the laughter in his eyes.

“I will seek to remember that in the future,” I told him.

“Are you ready to go home?” he asked awhile later, as the final bars of the final song were being played.

It was a five-day ride through snow, with the assassination threat lifted and the civil war pacified. There was the Arbor Wilds ahead of us, still, and many more opportunities for disaster. Halamshiral was a vacation from the very real war the Inquisition was still waging against Corypheus.

A war I could play a major part in, if I wanted to.

“I am,” I answered, once I was content it was the truth. “This was fun, but… yes. I want to go home.”

Cullen pulled me into his arms for a chaste kiss – we were on the ballroom floor not ten feet from the Empress, after all – and I stood on tiptoe to receive it. “I used to fear that sentence from you,” he breathed against my ear.

I nodded my understanding. “I want to go home with you,” I corrected myself.

Cullen tucked my hand through the crook of his elbow and led me off the floor. Hellen and Josie were on our heels, and the rest of the Inquisition was already in the courtyard. “Assassins or not, you’re riding with me,” he said conversationally.

“I would have it no other way.”


	49. Part III, Chapter 1: The Road to Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition travels back to Skyhold from Halamshiral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Part 3! This is the final quarter of the story (by word count, at least) and we will slowly unravel the truth. I hope to answer all questions and tie up all threads. 
> 
> There are some definitely ups and downs coming, so be sure you stick with me to the end. I swear I will make it worth your while.

The five days back to Skyhold from Halamshiral were every bit as snowy, windy, biting, and brutal as I had feared. The heavy cloaks Josephine produced rendered all of us completely anonymous in the reduced visibility. Everyone but scouts rode in a strict formation.

I was not traded off to Krem or Blackwall in the name of Cullen riding off on some errand.

No, I sat firmly in Cullen’s lap, my back pressed to the silverite of his breast plate. It was frozen every morning when he put it on, and the heat between our bodies warmed it so that it steamed when he took it off at night.

He was a man of his word, as well: he was _fully capable_ of keeping me warm on the road.

We continued to share a tent, and by the time I crawled into the – frigid – bedding every night I was so wound up from a day of roaming hands and stolen kisses that _keeping warm_ was not an issue _once_.

Keeping me _quiet_ was a larger concern.

Aside from my pressing concerns in regards to body heat and control of my voice, the ride back to Skyhold was very different from the ride to Halamshiral. There was no singing with the Chargers – none of them were as warm as I was, and they were working triply hard to maintain security in the snow. There was very little communicating with others outside of mealtimes and the beginning and end of the day, as the marching order was strictly enforced to keep everyone together in the snow.

Instead, I spent five days talking to Cullen about – and in – my native tongue.

“I started learning from the Iron Bull as soon as we got to Skyhold,” he confessed early on in the trip. “You had tried to tell me about Hellen in the Chantry in Haven as we were evacuating, and I realized you wanted to reassure me. Then I heard where you’d gone during the attack – to the infirmary – and… I don’t know. I wanted to thank you, and the best way seemed to be to learn the words you would know.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” I asked.

“The time never seemed right. And Cole… Cole made it quite clear you wanted, _needed_ , to learn Common, and he would see to it you spent more time with people speaking Common than Qunlat so I… I made sure I only ever spoke Common around you.”

I spun around in his lap then, pressing my knees to the sides of his armor and resting my feet on the back of the saddle. I worked my hands under his cloak to twine my fingers around his neck and drag his mouth down to mine.

“Was I just rewarded for subterfuge?” he breathed when I let him up.

I laughed and tucked my head under his chin, content to sit backwards for awhile. Cullen tugged his cloak around me, and I fancied I disappeared from view. “No,” I answered eventually. “Call it a reward for persistence and impeccable planning.”

Cullen kissed the top of my head. “That does sound better, yes.”

“Did you want to keep working on it?”

“On… Qunlat?”

“English,” I corrected happily.

“There isn’t much benefit in it now, is there? I realized when I was taking almost daily lessons from Krem that so many people knew Qunla- _English_ that I wouldn’t really be conversing with you secretly if I learned it.”

“Well, there is a good reason for us all to know _Qunlat_ ,” I sighed. “We did just lose an alliance with the Qun. But beyond that, I can think of a lot of reasons for you to learn English.”

“Not that I need any reason beyond it is something you desire, but what do you have in mind?”

“I would like to be able to sing the original version of songs and not feel bad that you don’t understand what is said.”

“Yes, please,” he replied quickly in English.

We soon decided that he would try to speak in English for the rest of the journey – with me, at least – and I would talk more about myself.

“I meant it,” he told me haltingly, in an accent I found _darling_ , “when I… I asked you to let me in.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“What do you want to know _first_?”

“Likes. Hrm. Not-likes? Dislikes, yes. Likes and dislikes. History. Where you were born, where you lived. What a day was like.”

“The ordinary, boring, every day stuff?”

“Yes,” he agreed fervently.

Five days was not enough time to tell my life story – not down to the minutiae Cullen wanted – but it was a hell of a good start. I told him about my family, my home town, my church. I told him what a normal day was like as a child, as a college student, and then as a nurse. I told him about my friends and my homes and my pets.

“You had dogs?” he asked at one point.

“Many,” I confirmed. “I didn’t have one there at the end, because Morty had died and we hadn’t had time to devote to a new litter. We liked to-“

I was cut off by the sort of kiss that generally accompanies life-or-death situations or long absences.

“Woah,” I breathed when he – finally – pulled back for air. “What did I-“

“You like _dogs_!” he told me happily, and I had to laugh. He was a _Fereldan_ , after all. I almost told him there was a mabari in his future, but managed to bite the words back. We could still lose, after all. Hellen could do something stupid or Corypheus could change his plan… better to wait until it happened.

It was odd, giving the narrative of my life to someone who _so desperately_ wanted to hear it. He only spoke to request clarification or further information, never offering any tidbits or _hey that reminds me of the time I_ \- or even any thoughtful _yes, hm, I’m listening_ sorts of sounds. He hung on every word as if I was reading aloud his favorite story.

We were still two days out from Skyhold when he asked about Patrick.

“You haven’t mentioned him hardly at all,” Cullen quietly pointed out. “I know he played a large role in your life.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear-“

“-About the man you loved? About someone who loved you? Gwen, that’s exactly the sort of thing I want to hear. I want to learn how to love you, how to make you happy, and _he clearly did_. And, Maker forbid the man did something that drove you mad, I want to hear of it. Let me learn from his mistakes.”

So, hesitantly, I told him.

I told Cullen how I’d met Patrick a dozen times before we ever spoke. How I kept running into him at the library, at the grocery store, on campus, and then finally realized we lived on opposite ends of the same apartment complex. He started walking me home, and one day he came in to help me put away groceries and ended up staying for six hours, sitting on the floor of my kitchen with a six-pack and the sinking certainty that we’d found something permanent. When our leases were up in June, we moved in together.

I told Cullen how I’d taken Patrick home to meet my parents, how he and my brother instantly adored one another, how he had an easy time getting along with my father, how my mother hated his hair. He grew his beard out when he got out of the military, but always kept the high-and-tight that he’d gotten used to.

I told Cullen how Patrick had brought home a litter of puppies and hand-raised them, and the two he kept latched on to me the second we met. One day the female, Killeen the yellow lab, brought me a paper sack with _for mom_ written across it in Sharpie. Inside was a ring box, empty but for another note. “Come to me for the rest.” I found Patrick in our kitchen, kneeling on the floor with a six-pack and random groceries strewn about, a diamond ring in his hand.

I told Cullen how I’d lost the ring two weeks before the wedding – down a drain at the hospital where I worked – and how Patrick had proposed again with a ring of carefully folded candy wrappers, which I wore as I walked down the aisle. As we spoke our vows, Patrick had taken the beaten-up paper ring off my hand and pocketed it. For our first wedding anniversary, he’d given it to me, dipped in resin and carefully mounted in a ring box, so I would always have it.

I was telling Cullen about little things – our agreement to never say _goodbye_ , our Thai food dates, our bucket list – when I heard a voice cry out in pain from somewhere far ahead of us.

“Krem!” I hissed to Cullen. “That was _Krem_.”

“I know,” he gritted, and spurred his horse to the side. “Inquisitor!” he called in his parade-ground voice. I wondered if my ear drum was ruptured from proximity. As I shook my head I took a moment to actually take stock of our surroundings. We’d taken a different route back, but we were nearing the crossroads that ultimately led to Skyhold. It was not currently snowing, but it looked like it could start again at any moment.

“KEEP GWEN BACK,” Hellen roared in a voice not entirely her own, her massive forder churning up the snow as it built up speed. I noticed her left hand was glowing vividly green.

“It’s a rift,” I told Cullen. “The anchor’s active.”

“We’ve been sending scouts through here for months,” he muttered angrily. “Are these Void-taken things _still_ spawning?”

“Florianne managed to get one to pop up in Halamshiral,” I reminded him. “Put me down and get over there.”

“No, you need-“

I shook my head. “Go. The rift is the greater danger.”

Before he could argue I swung my leg over the stallion’s back – I had learned his name was Korth, fitting given his size – and dropped the distance to the ground. I was only in the snow long enough to take three steps before Josephine reined in her delicate mare beside me. “Here, come up,” she said, holding out her hand. “Amaryllis would not be able to carry us both for long, but we are light enough to sit astride and not tax her.”

With a nod, I swung up behind Josephine. Cullen, seeing me out of the snow, spurred Korth into motion and quickly disappeared into the snow.

“Distance, yes?” Josie said, almost to herself. “But staying too far behind is as foolish as running too far forward. We must stay near the group.”

The front half of our group had all charged off to battle demons and the rift, while the rear guard and the supply carts were left with Josie and myself. Josie made an exaggerated gesture with her arm, encouraging the rest of the column to continue moving.

We made it to the top of the rise and looked down towards the crossroads. It was impossible to miss, even in the snow; the wagon ruts were deep enough to leave divots in the road way, and there was a substantial clearing around the crossroads itself.

The rift had spawned right square in the middle.

It was beautiful, in a horrible sort of way. The air wavered around it like heat radiating off pavement. Streams of green energy were flaring out to puddle on the ground and become demons. I watched a flare become a puddle become a Terror demon.

I watched it disappear into the ground.

I watched it come up under Twitch and casually disembowel the Charger.

“No!” I howled, and found myself sliding off Josie’s horse and fighting my way through the churned-up snow to where my friends – my family – my _children_ – were fighting – and _dying_ – before my very eyes.

I got halfway down the hill when I was suddenly bowled over. Warm arms wrapped around me as I was borne downward into a snowbank. I flailed, fought to get up, but someone a hell of a lot heavier than me had me pinned down.

“Hellen said to keep back,” Hawke reminded me conversationally. “Mustn’t anger the raging kossith, Gwennie love.”

“Twitch-“

“I saw. You’re not helping.”

“I can kill them all with a _gesture_ ,” I snarled, and it caused Hawke to shift so he could look me in the eye.

“You can’t be anywhere near a rift, not and keep your skin together.”

“The demons,” I argued, pushing vainly against Hawke’s chest. _Maker_ the man was heavy. “I can keep them from-“

“You can,” he agreed calmly. “But doing so _would kill you_.”

“You don’t know-“

“Justice knows. Anders and Merrill have been talking to me, telling me of their theories and reporting what they can weasel out of Justice. If Hellen’s saying it – Wisdom must have said the same thing to her. You can’t be anywhere near a rift.”

“That makes no _sense_.”

“Will you - ow – just stop thrashing and – _ow_ , damn it – suck up the fucking hero complex for one damn minute and _– ow, damnit, that’s going to bruise -_  listen to me! You can’t go near that rift!”

“I CAN’T STAND ASIDE AND WATCH ANOTHER MAN DIE.” I shouted directly into Hawke’s face.

His expression melted from frustration into a deep sort of sorrow that I had to avert my eyes from.

“Then don’t look,” he told me gently.

There was an explosion, then, and a shockwave hit me in the chest, even buried as I was in a snow drift. Hawke glanced down the hill and then sat back on his heels, letting me up. I stumbled out of the snow and ran down the hill as fast as I could manage.

The rift was gone. There was blood in the snow – far too much blood in the snow – but already Hellen was moving amongst the injured. I dashed to Twitch’s side.

“Hey, ma,” he coughed as I dropped to my knees beside him. “This is a shitty way to go, what?”

I picked up a handful of snow from arm’s length away – a bit that wasn’t bloodied or scuffed or trod upon – and roughly washed my hands before carefully lifting away Twitch’s hands from his abdomen.

His intestines seemed intact, if on the wrong side of his skin, and I worked to coil them back in his abdominal cavity.

“That’s not going to work,” he chided me. His voice was clear, but the pain around his eyes and stiffness in his shoulders gave lie to the calm. “Once they come out, they’re out.”

“Bullshit,” I scoffed. “I’ve seen enough babies born by the knife to know these bad boys can get stuffed back in. You just wait until Hellen gets here.”

“Hellen’s here,” the spirit healer said as she dropped into the snow beside me. “She’s running low, though.”

“I can-“

“No,” Hellen said, shaking her head. “Better to be tired than to lose control. I know you’ll stand me back up if I hit the point of collapse. I’m not there yet.” She pressed her hands to Twitch’s abdomen and with a frown and quick shudder, sealed the ghastly wound shut. “Avoid infection and you’ll be okay,” she told him.

“That bit’s my job,” I reassured him. “We’ll have you right as rain in no time.”

Twitch blinked warily. “I’m not dead?”

“Not dead,” Bull’s voice boomed from over my shoulder. “It was a near thing, but we managed to avoid any casualties.”

“Everyone’s alright?” Hellen asked, looking wearily around her. “All patched up and good to continue?”

“Looks like,” Bull confirmed.

“Good, then I can _kill you_ ,” she hissed, turning to me and grasping my shoulders. I expected her to chew my ass in English, but she stayed in Common – _everybody_ was going to know what she had to say. “What part of _stay back_ do you not understand? What part of a direct damn order is so hard for you to grasp?”

“I could have killed all of those demons with a _gesture_ ,” I returned. “If you think I can sit on a hill and watch people I love fight – and die! – when I could save them, then you don’t know the first thing about me!”

“You think dying in their place is a better option?” she growled.

“As of right now _I have no reason to believe I would die_ ,” I shot back. “If there is some information you would like to _share with me_ regarding things that could _fucking kill me_ then perhaps now would be the time!”

Hellen released me, leaning back on her heels to rub her hands across her face. “No, I didn’t tell you. I _should have,_ but Anders wanted to run some tests first, sit you down with Justice and Wisdom…”

Bull leaned in between us and grabbed Twitch’s hand, pulling the injured Charger away from us. “Let’s get you out of the crossfire, man, up you go.”

“Inquisitor, we seem to have everyone accounted for and hale,” Cullen’s voice announced from the space Bull vacated over my shoulder, in the crisp tones of _Commander_. “May I ask why the Herald isn’t with the rest of the forces and the Ambassador?”

I tried not to wince and failed. _Oh_ he was mad at me.

“If you tell me not to help an injured man I will disobey you every time,” I told Hellen in a tone I hoped wouldn’t carry much beyond Cullen. “Tell me not to help an injured man who calls me _ma_ and I will flatly ignore you. I trust you, I trust your leadership, but I also trust you will treat me like I’m made of glass at every opportunity. If you’ve got a _reason_ to keep me away from a rift, when we have every reason to think I could have banished those demons, then you owe it to me – and the people whose lives we endangered – to explain it to me.”

“You can’t just follow a damn order?” Hellen sighed.

“When it comes to a man bleeding out in the snow that I know I can help?” I shook my head. “I’m sorry, no. I felt the situation had changed and it was more important for me to minimize casualties than sit on the top of the hill and do nothing.”

“Inquisitor,” Cullen interrupted. “You are plainly tired, and _neither_ of you should be spending this much time sitting in the snow. We should continue the conversation once we are underway, if not in camp tonight or in the war room once we’ve returned.”

“Get the damn horse, then,” she sighed, pushing herself to her feet with a hand on her knee.

I followed suit, ignoring her proffered hand. “Save your strength, if you won’t let me give you any.”

Cullen lifted me astride his horse without a word. He pulled himself into the saddle behind me, and I halfway expected him to leave a pocket of air between my back and his chest; a gap wherein his anger could breathe and perhaps dissipate. I was wrong, however; Cullen wedged me tightly against him, wrapped his right arm around my waist, and briefly – for just a moment as we waited for the column to come down the hill and join us – buried his face in my hair and breathed deeply.

“You are a terrible soldier,” he said once we were all moving again.

I snorted. “You are the second man I have loved who has told me that.”

“Yes, well, I’ve always believed Patrick was a wise man.”

I could not imagine a response to that statement, so I tipped my head back onto Cullen’s shoulder and waited for Hellen to show up and come clean.


	50. Pt III Ch 2: Accepting Umbralis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations with Hellen, Kremmie, and Cullen and the return to Skyhold from the Winter Ball.
> 
> Some small bit of theory today. Big double-handful in the next chapter.

It wasn’t until we pulled into camp for the night – a half-day’s ride from Skyhold – and I was devouring a bowl of thick bean and vegetable soup that Hellen sought me out. She gestured at the back of one of the carts, and I hopped up to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with her as we ate. She had her feet flat on the ground, while mine hung some distance in the air. I wasn’t swinging them like a child might, but I definitely considered it.

“When you met Anders,” she began, speaking quietly between bites, “you had a conversation about the way you make Anders – and Justice – feel. It was something the rest of us hadn’t felt because… well. It’s _Anders_. When I reached my agreement with Wisdom, I immediately felt it from you, too. I could feel your aura like Anders could, and I knew I had to talk to him about you.”

“That makes sense,” I granted, more to fill the space while she chewed than anything else.

“Wisdom calls you a _fixed point_ ,” she said once her mouth was clear. She dragged her spoon around her bowl as if she wasn’t truly hungry, but eating out of need.  “And she told Anders that you served the same purpose as the Veil, in so many words. Or implied it, at least. Whatever. The point is, Anders and Merrill and Hawke and I have been talking via Hawke’s phylactery, the one he gave Merrill. And we have a theory.”

“Okay, so what’s your theory? And have you asked Solas about it at all?”

“Solas is touchy about the Veil when it comes to you,” Hellen answered with a frown. “Like it’s not working the way it’s supposed to or something. I didn’t want to mess with it.”

I knew I couldn’t keep my face straight, so I stuffed a spoonful of stew into my mouth instead. Hellen didn’t seem to notice.

“We don’t know why, or how, or any of that. But we think you are the human equivalent of the Veil. You bring Fade energy across to this side, and you force reality upon the Fade on the other side. We think that _you are the Veil_ , wherever you are.”

“That… no,” I argued. “No, I am not the Veil. That’s impossible.”

“You aren’t made of the same substance,” Hellen countered, and I remembered Wisdom saying something similar, “but you serve the same purpose. It’s like closing the drain on the tub with your hand when you can’t find the stopper. Except… on a grander scale. Your hand fits over the holes in a ship’s hull. You keep the water out, although you’re not made of wood.”

I opened my mouth to argue again but Hellen cut me off. “Anders has some things he wants to do, to potentially disprove it. But we think if you were to come into contact with a rift – the rift would be destroyed. But so would you. And that isn’t something I’m willing to risk. Even if not for this reason… Gwen. You kept Wisdom alive. You _fuck up_ _the Veil_. Letting you get anywhere near a rift is _stupid_. Like you said with Blackwall, you can do a lot more good alive than dead.”

I couldn’t argue the point. Even not knowing what I was, getting close to a rift might be terrible.

I might be the human equivalent of Hellen’s anchor, though – maybe I could close them.

I suspected Hellen wouldn’t let me find out.

“We need to include Solas in this,” I said instead. “He’s agreed to teach me what he knows about the Veil, and the plan was to see how much I could safely accomplish. I want to know my limits. Having this information from Justice and Wisdom could help him, help me.”

Hellen nodded. “You’re right.”

“I know I’m right. I’m always-“

“Don’t give me that lip,” Hellen warned, and we both laughed.

 

*

 

 

I hoped the rest of the trip would be easier, but Cullen was coldly furious, and it quickly became clear he wouldn’t let his guard down around me again until I was safe within the solid stone walls of Skyhold.

Riding through the gatehouse a bit more than a day later felt like nothing more than coming home. Cullen sighed out a breath, plainly relieved, and gently hugged me closer to him for a split second before drawing slightly apart and then swinging off Korth.

“Can we talk later?” I asked as he took my hands and helped me down.

“I would like that,” he answered softly.

There were a thousand things to do, then, and I trusted Josephine to handle my belongings while I escorted the injured Chargers to the infirmary.

“Don’t see why we have to stay here,” Krem grumbled. “Inquisitor healed us all up.”

“Infection takes time to set in,” I countered, “and Hellen was very tired by the end of that fight. She could have missed something. There’s nothing happening in the next few days, you won’t be missing anything by staying here under observation.”

I received a chorus of groans and then a synchronous “Yes, Ma.”

I was laughing as I opened the door to the infirmary and saw that Edmun and Jamy had already turned the room over. Beds were made and turned down, water was readied for baths, lamps were lit and fresh clothes were laid out.

“What the-“ Twitch breathed.

“Wash up,” I instructed. “There’s a change of clothes for you on your pillow, so you don’t wreck my bedding with arms and armor. The healers here are Edmun and Jamy, they’ll help you get settled in.” I turned to my smiling healing staff. “Edmun, take Charge. If any of these clowns give you trouble, send Jamy to find me. I don’t care what time it is, I’ll come set them straight.”

I was awarded with another chorus of groans as I sat down at my desk to leave a note. I was a little surprised when I counted back from the last day I’d been in the infirmary and realized it was day two hundred and twenty-three in Thedas. By the Thedosian calendar, it had been damn near eight months since life as I had known it had ended. I sat staring at the number for a long time before glancing up to Jamy.

“What day is it?”

“Ser?”

“What is the date today? A week or so past Satinalia, I know, but what day and month is it?”

“It is Firstfall, ser,” she answered, working to mask her confusion. “The tenth day of Firstfall.”

“Umbralis,” Krem corrected her absently, as he worked to free his arm from a badly dented bracer.

“Tevenes,” Twitch grunted. “Fancy name for everything.”

“What’s on your mind, Gwen?” Krem asked, sauntering over. I realized – a bit belatedly – that ordering Krem to take a bath was pretty heartless of me. I’d thought of him as a _him_ for as long as I’d known him, it was too easy to forget there wasn’t reassignment surgery in Thedas.

“Here, I’ll help you into the bath. I want to take a look at that arm. We’ll take the basin in the water closet.”

As Jamy and Edmun nodded, Krem’s eyes widened slowly and I gestured for him to follow me.

“I don’t need help,” he told me slowly as I shut the door behind us. “But… thank you.”

“I’m sorry, I should have thought of it sooner. I know better.”

His arm was – as I suspected – completely healed. I sat down on the low bench that contained the toilets – confident Jamy and the rest of the infirmary staff had kept it clean – and turned slightly away, giving him the illusion of privacy.

“It really doesn’t bother you?” He asked as the bindings from around his chest dropped to the floor and he slid into the steaming water of the half-cask.

I shook my head. “It bothers me that I wasn’t more considerate.”

Krem laughed. “Ain’t nothing the Chargers haven’t all seen.”

“Principle,” I replied, and his smile matched my own.

“This is brilliant, you know?” he groaned as he sank deeper into the tub. “You do this every day, right?”

The thought made my scalp itch. “Didn’t when we were on the road, but yeah. I’ve got three casks up in my rooms if you ever need a soak.”

“You’re spoiling me, Gwen,” he said, up to his chin and threatening to sink lower. He tipped his head back so all I could see was his face. I pulled my feet onto the bench and wrapped my arms around my knees.

“I don’t have a birthday anymore,” I told him softly, once his ears became visible again.

“Why not?”

“Our years are different. I didn’t think of it until now. I’ve been dating my log entries with the number of days I’ve been in Thedas... but that’s up in the two hundreds already. I don’t want to keep doing that forever. It was good at first, but now it seems unnecessary. The math is too complicated.”

“Are our years longer or shorter?”

“Shorter.”

“So you’re even older than you said?”

“Thanks, Kremmie.”

“No offense, Gwen, but _hot damn_. How old are you in our years?”

“Math!” I lamented, and he laughed. “I’ll need paper to work that out.”

Krem was rather insistent, and once I had him out of the bath, dried, and clothed, we sat at my desk and crunched the numbers.

“So if anybody is alive back home to celebrate, they would have had my birthday party a couple of weeks before we left for Halamshiral,” I said, several ink-smeared sheets of parchment later. “But since the years here are shorter, the actual day I was born is the-“

“First of Wintermarch!” Krem breathed, “Oh, that’s _perfect_.”

“It is?”

“That’s First Day! We won’t have any problem keeping track of the new birthday.”

“Pity, March thirteenth was fun. Practically the Ides of March, and I got a Friday the Thirteenth every few years.”

“So you were born… in the eighth year of the Dragon Age.”

“That’s not as bad as I feared.”

“Nah, you’ve still got a decade on Varric.”

“Ha! But I think I’m older than the Commander.”

Krem elbowed me. “Nothing like a merry widow, Gwen, regardless of her age.”

I covered my face with my hands. “Alright, alright, I’m out of here. Be good for Jamy and I’ll come check on everyone in the morning.”

“Good night!” the Charger chorus called. With another laugh and a shake of my head, I went back to my rooms.

Back on Earth, it would be the fifth of May. The trees would be starting to bud, the forsythia past its prime and faded from yellow to spring green. I would have turned thirty-one a few months before.

Now I was inching towards thirty-four and feeling cheated. It was silly, I knew. I wasn’t actually any older, it was just a different reckoning of the number of days I had been alive. And even then… what if the Thedosian day was longer than an Earth day, and my math had all been a farse? Should I have just kept the thirteenth day of the third month as my birthday, rather than try to convert it?

There was a crate just inside the door when I got back to my room, if I could still call it that. Cullen’s clothes and minimal personal possessions were still in his spartan bedroom above his office, but he spent every night here with me. The chances of him _not_ sleeping there, given the change in our relationship in Halamshiral, were about zero. Granted he wasn’t there right at that moment, but I had no doubt he would arrive eventually.

The crate, while intriguing, wasn’t at the top of my to-do list. I walked past it after giving it a once-over to check for threats and being reassured by Josephine’s handwriting on the note sitting on top, addressed to me. I crossed the room to the heavy locked chest Leliana had given me, digging Jacqueline’s cell phone out of the inside pocket of my coat as I moved. I didn’t have either key, but I did know how to get the chest to open; I knelt on the floor in front of it and waited.

I didn’t have to wait long. The door to the apartment cracked open silently, and Cole ghosted though.

He didn’t have to speak. He opened the lid, resting a hand briefly on my shoulder as he pulled the gratitude directly from my thoughts. I reached in and pulled out my own phone and the solar panel. There were a few hours of sunlight remaining; I couldn’t get a full charge on Jacqueline’s phone, but it would be enough to get the information I wanted.

Cole had something in his hands, and once he’d gotten my attention I saw it was yet another smart phone.

“Where’d this one come from?”

“Near the palace,” he answered softly. “You said to look for more, and I found more. Kept this out, kept it separate, kept it safe. The rest is in the box.”

I sighed and flipped the phone end-over-end in my hands. Was it Michael’s? It wasn’t Jacqueline’s, hers had been in her bra cup. It was dead, so I mentally put it in the _to be charged_ queue.

How many of us were there?  
How many of us were _dead_?

I nodded my thanks to Cole, who silently locked the chest and then disappeared as quietly as he had come.

I climbed to the second floor, noting the reagents littering my work table were all sitting in precisely the same position as I had left them. I climbed the ladder to the roof, popping open the trapdoor for all of three seconds before letting it slam shut with a full-body shiver.

“Too cold on the roof for the charger,” I muttered to myself as I dropped back to the floor. I set up the solar panel on the tabletop in a weak square of sunlight; it was less than ideal but it would have to do. I plugged in Jacqueline’s and left mine and the as-yet-unclaimed phone on the table nearby before wandering into the wash room to pour a bath. I dropped in a rune and a few drops of the oil I had pilfered from the manse at Halamshiral. I made a mental note to ask Josephine how I might acquire more of it; it reminded me of bergamot, with a warm vanilla tone and some vaguely floral notes.

I let myself soak until I was wrinkled, and then drained the tub and cleaned the washroom. Jacqueline’s phone had only gotten a five percent charge, which was far slower than I would have liked but was still promising. Wrapping a towel around my body to match the one wound around my hair and perched on the top of my head, I made my way back downstairs, thinking to warm myself in front of the fire and dig out some pajamas and curl up with a book to wait for Cullen.

Cullen negated that plan by having already arrived.

“I don’t have anything to say that Hellen hasn’t already,” Cullen said, firing off the first shot as soon as I hit the bottom of the stairs. He was sitting on the edge of the couch, clad in his typical pants and shirt, although tonight he had over it a coat not unlike what he’d been wearing in Halamshiral, unbuttoned and hanging casually open. It was a good look for him.

I put my back to the wall and raised my right hand to my face, roughly adjusting my hair towel and scrubbing at my eyes. “I’m an asshole, that what you mean? It’s okay, I can take it.”

He was quiet so long I dropped my hand and tilted my head to look at him. He had one eyebrow gracefully arched and was watching me with a very thoughtful sort of air about him. I wondered if he was choosing his words.

“I meant that Hellen already outlined the complaints anyone could raise about your action at the crossroads. There is no reason for me to reiterate it. I would like to add, however, that the idea of you dying to seal a rift does not sit well with me, regardless of whether or not Hellen was available to close it.”

I sighed, but Cullen pushed to his feet before I could spit out another retort. “The idea of _you_ being anywhere other than _with me_ is unfathomable. I somehow survived more than thirty years before I met you, and now the mere possibility of a single day without you is anathema. I spent the better part of four days listening to your life story and all I can think is I want _more_. I… I don’t know how to say how I feel. I know I’ve only been saying it for a week, but already _I love you_ seems so hollow. I’m not trying to tell you I love you, I’m trying to tell you how… how… how _essential to life_ you have become. And how, when I looked up and saw you kneeling in the snow in the middle of a veritable explosion of blood, all I could think of was _this is how it ends_.”

He had been slowly crossing the room towards me, and I pushed off the steps to meet him halfway, twining my arms around his neck and burying my face in his shoulder.

“I don’t have a birthday,” I complained.

“You… what?”

“You said _more than thirty years_ and I just… I figured out the difference in days between Thedas and Earth and I think I’m older than you but I don’t really have a birthday and I feel really disconnected right now.”

Cullen seemed to steady himself for a moment, and I realized I had made a terribly selfish response to his incredibly heartfelt confession of love and devotion. Before I could swim up to the surface of the guilt I was suddenly drowning in, Cullen tipped over sideways, swept my feet out from under me, and carried me to the couch. He plopped down heavily onto the cushions and draped me across his lap.

“When do you want your birthday to be?” he asked.

“It was the thirteenth of March – the third month on our calendar. But Krem and I did the math and if we’re assuming the days are the same length of time, which admittedly is almost impossible to measure but I bet I could take my phone down to Dagna and we could find a way to compare-“

“Gwen,” he said softly, pulling me out of the tangent.

“Krem and I figure I was born on First Day of nine-eight Dragon.”

Cullen snorted. “You’re older than me.”

“Thanks.”

“You should celebrate your birthday on First Day. It would be fitting. We’re throwing a party for you on twelfth Drakonis anyways, and that is only one day removed from the thirteenth day of the third month.”

“Why is there a celebration then?”

“That’s the day you fell out of the portal and into our lives.”

“Oh,” I breathed. “You’re celebrating-“

“We can’t do it for Hellen, since that was the day the Conclave exploded, sixteenth Wintermarch. There will be a great solemn affair that day if I know Josephine at all. The same for the day the Breach was closed and Haven was lost, on seventeenth Drakonis. But your arrival will definitely be recognized.”

“I get two birthdays?” I asked, cognizant of the wonder in my tone long after I had spoken.

Cullen shook, but kept his laughter silent. “If you want to think of it that way, then yes. It is only fitting, given your extreme advanced age.”

“You _asshole_ ,” I laughed, swatting him in the chest. “I can’t be much more than five months older than you.”

“Five months exactly,” he countered. “My birthday is first Justinian.”

“The story said you were nineteen when the Blight started, and you’d spent one year in Kinloch after taking your vows at eighteen.”

“I was twenty-two that year. It is true that I had only been in at Kinloch for a year, though. I spent the first two years after I took my vows on the road with two older Templars, learning how to live outside. We were taught that we could find ourselves out of a Circle at any point in time, chasing down a runaway or bringing in a new apprentice. Or, for the survivors of Kinloch…”

“Having to make do without the benefits of infrastructure while you were rebuilding. It makes sense.”

He sighed and pulled me closer, which reminded me of the shitty thing I’d done not five minutes before.

“Cullen, I’m sorry. You were trying to have a serious conversation and I’m bitching about my age. It was rude and selfish of me.”

He pressed a kiss to my forehead but otherwise remained silent. What else could he do? He couldn’t disagree with me without being a liar.

“I’ve been here eight months, on your calendar,” I told him. “It seems like an eon ago, over two hundred days, but it really isn’t all that long in the grand scheme of things. Sometimes it is so hard to reconcile the change in me, as a person, with the relatively short passage of time. When I was in the bath, I was thinking about how I can’t really call this _my room_ because it’s _our room_. We each have an office elsewhere, but I expect to see you here. When I asked if we could speak later, we both just assumed we’d be talking _here_. I don’t even have to think about it anymore. We just _are_.”

“And is that…” Cullen paused and shifted a bit on the couch, settling me even closer against him. “Is that alright?”

“It is,” I answered softly. “It feels right. It _is_ right. And I feel guilty for being so happy so soon.”

“Ah,” Cullen breathed, seeming to understand the crux of my concern. “The court of public opinion.”

“Which is stupid, right?”

“Given that no one here had ever met Patrick, and people were wagering whether or not you and Hellen were involved within two weeks or your arrival? Yes, it’s perhaps a little bit, uh, well, dumb.”

As I laughed, Cullen hastened to add, “But it’s all relative. Between the Orlesian civil war and the Blight and the dissolution of the Circles there are countless war widows in southern Thedas. There is no set social convention for when it is acceptable to move on.”

“And with your concern with propriety, you would have followed it to the letter had it existed.”

“Or died trying,” he gritted, and I laughed again.

“You must simply move at whatever pace you’re comfortable with,” he finished, and I nuzzled my face into his neck.  
“Thank you,” I whispered.

“You’re welcome.”

“About what you were saying when I came in-“

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried about it. I’m enjoying the memory of it.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. If I wasn’t an idiot, I would have taken the opportunity to ask if you were going to move your things here, since you sleep here all the time anyways. I mean, we each keep our own offices, and you could fix your old bedroom and use it as a retreat or a storage room or something.”

“What would I store?” he laughed.

“Books!” I answered immediately, and he laughed harder. “Armor stands with all your different sets laid out and shined. Maybe a second desk where you can write _personal_ things, like letters to your sister or friends you left behind in Kirkwall, rather than have to do it in the open air of your office.”

“I’ll consider it,” he offered.

“I’ve got some empty closet space still – Maker only knows what Vivienne intends to put in that last wardrobe – but I’ll leave it open for you if you decide you want it.”

“No, Gwen,” he laughed again. “I’ll consider the second desk in my old room. Of course I want to move my things here.”

“You do?”

“I know you were preoccupied with your advanced age and all, but I do recall saying I –oh.”

I interrupted his insult by spinning around in his lap to face him, my knees on either side of his hips, and opening the towel I had wrapped around my torso. “So this is distasteful to you now? My ancient and decrepit body has lost its allure?”

Cullen slid one hand between the towel and my skin, raising the other to tug the towel off my head and let my still-wet hair tumble down my back. “Not the parts I can see. I shall need to conduct a more thorough inspection, though. Just to be sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About Cell phones:  
> At least one person is _definitely_ writing their own OC into this story of mine., and the phone Cole has here is her's. Her story won't follow my canon, but will be a spinoff. I think that is **awesome.**
> 
> If you would like your own OC to also be dropped into this world, and their gear ended up at Halamshiral during Gaspard's search for offworlders, please feel free to add it to that crate in Gwen's room. Drop me a line and I'll give you a link if you decide to write up your own MPiT story, or add Keep to the Stars as your inspiration and you'll get permanently added to the links at the end of the story. <3


	51. Pt III Ch 3: Exposure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first half of their first full day back in Skyhold.  
> Let's take a moment to play with the Fade!

I woke shortly after dawn the next morning, tangled up naked in my bedding, Cullen long gone.

Hellen, however, was leaning over me with a knowing leer on her face.

“Pleasant homecoming, I take it?”

“Better than yours, if you’re already dressed and bothering me.”

She scrunched up her nose and I laughed.

“Dorian’s upstairs pouring the baths, if you’re able to walk.”

“Oooh, I’m not sure. I’ll definitely try to get up there to join you.”

She rolled her eyes and vanished around the corner. I could hear her banter with Dorian as I disengaged from the sheets and stumbled, yawning, up the stairs. I didn’t bother pulling on a robe, and wandered into the bath room naked and disheveled.

“Look at you!” Dorian laughed. “You have the best bed head, I swear. Your tub’s already warm.”

“Bless you,” I answered, and dropped gracelessly into the bath water.

I didn’t mind being laughed at by Hellen and Dorian, because I knew they were both genuinely happy for me. I was more comfortable around the two of them than I had ever been with any other friend I had ever known. Even Cullen didn’t put me at ease quite the same way these glorious assholes did. I relaxed deeper into the water with a contented smile on my face.

“Disgusting,” Dorian commented happily.

“War room meeting has been pushed back,” Hellen announced once she had settled into her own cask. “Everyone got up this morning and realized they had _far_ too much work to catch up on, and needed some more time before they had any solid reports. Morrigan is set to arrive tomorrow – with your piano, I might add – so we’re aiming to have the meeting tomorrow evening, rather late. After dinner, for sure.”

“Oh, good,” I replied. “I need a bit more sunshine before I can get the information I need from Jacqueline’s phone.”

“She had one of those devices like you have?” Dorian asked. “Were they terribly common?”

“Terribly,” I confirmed.

“Your world never ceases to amaze me,” Dorian murmured before adding in a louder voice, “What did you hope to find from her device?”

“I can learn a great deal about the state of my world,” I answered, “which is apparently why she was sent here. She was to give me hope, I believe. If I can’t hear it from her own lips, I will have to be more circuitous about it. Her phone might contain nothing past the day I travelled here, the day of the attack. Or, it might only contain information _after_ that day. Just the dates on the information would give me an idea of the state of affairs. Beyond that, I can read through the data she has saved – if any – and glean more from that. I can show you what I mean once it turns on, if there’s anything to be found. It’s possible it serves only as music storage now, and has been useless for communication since the attacks eight months ago.”

“More music?” Hellen asked, perking up.

I grinned. “I’ll let you know at the meeting tomorrow.”

“Fuck yeah,” she answered, pumping her fist.

“Do we have any obligations for the day, then?”

“Mages meeting,” Hellen answered immediately. “Dorian, Solas, Anders, Hawke, and myself. Vivienne regretfully declined, it seems she had a prior engagement with Fiona.” She managed to say it without cracking a smile.

“Ooh, sounds fun. What’s the topic?”

“You. Do you want to be there?”

Dorian snorted a laugh as I scrunched up my face and scowled at them both. “Yes, I want to be there.”

“Alright,” Hellen agreed mildly, although I could see the smile in her eyes. “We’ll go down together. You probably know the spot, on the second level under the main hall.”

“The large open ballroom sort of room down the hall from where you keep the liquor? Or the dusty-ass library?”

“Library?” Dorian asked, ears perking up.

“Ballroom,” Hellen laughed. “Library _after_ , Dorian.”

The ballroom, when we got there, had been set up for the meeting, but not in any way I might have imagined. There were thick cushions on the floor, in a circle around a firebowl not unlike the one on the roof of my tower. Hawke and Anders were already there, sprawled across two of the cushions and chatting idly as balefire flickered in the bowl. Solas arrived just as the three of us were getting settled, and I turned to Hellen, expecting her to take the lead.

“We’re here to discuss precisely what Gwen is capable of,” Anders announced, and my head whipped towards him so fast I might have strained something. “More importantly, what her limitations are, and what vulnerabilities, if any, she needs to be mindful of. Thank you all for coming.”

“Justice,” Dorian murmured to me under his breath. “Anders is the chair because Justice makes him the best parliamentarian.”

I snorted. “He’ll give everyone an equal amount of time to be heard?”

Dorian winked at me.

“We all know each other, so we can step past the pleasantries. We’re all here for our unique specialties, insights, and experience. As long as we keep the focus on helping Gwen, this should be quite productive. Volunteers to begin?”

“Bitch is crazy,” Hawke said, dismissing me with a grin and a wave of his hand. “Meeting adjourned.”

Dorian snorted as Solas scowled. Anders calmly spun around on his cushion and planted his foot – hard – into Hawke’s gut. Garrett coughed a protest, curling in on himself, as Anders spun back to face the group. “Serah Hawke was out of order.”

Dorian and I fought to swallow our laughter, which earned us a wink from Anders. Solas, I noted, was leaning much closer to a smile than a frown now. Hellen’s face was perfectly neutral.

“I shall start, then.” Anders continued mildly. “Through communication with Justice as well as Wisdom, and through observations of my own, it seems likely we can first conclude that Gwen exists simultaneously in the Fade and the waking world, as if she is unaffected by the Veil.”

“That seems reasonable, even as it is completely absurd,” Hellen sighed.

Dorian was nodding. “Ridiculous, but the simplest answer.”

Solas took a long breath before nodding. “Gwen’s attributes do seem to suggest her existence disregards the Veil.”

Hawke was still fighting for breath, but Anders paused with one hand indicating it was Hawke’s opportunity to speak before folding his hands in his lap.

“May this go down in history as the first time five mages from such varied backgrounds reached a conclusion in the first round of a meeting,” Dorian added.

Anders smiled at the Tevene. “As it were. Establishing that we all believe Gwen exists simultaneously in both realms is yet a hypothesis. It needs to be proven – or disproven.”

“And you mean to do that how?” Hellen asked, sternly disapproving of anything that had to do with experimenting on me.

“We ask Gwen to enter the Fade while awake,” Solas answered. Anders extended a hand to cede the floor. “Or, failing this, we teach her how to be conscious in both realms simultaneously. If she can, the point is proven. If she cannot-“

“It would be inconclusive,” Dorian concluded.

Anders nodded. “And we would need to try something else.”

“How would I do that?” I asked, suddenly eager.

“Entering the Fade while awake can be done by a mage,” Hawke said, rejoining the conversation. “It merely requires a stupendous amount of lyrium… or blood magic.” Garrett raised one hand and waved. “Hi.”

“So… like what Solona Amell did to save Arl Eamon’s family in the Blight. She entered the Fade and rescued Connor from the demon.”

“Exactly so,” Anders agreed, nodding. “Although it will be different with you, because the point is to have you conscious of the Fade _as well as_ the waking world; Solona was insensate of the happenings in Redcliffe while she looked for Connor. Furthermore, it seems – as a second point of contention – that you are capable of drawing energy from the Fade, but _incapable_ of converting it into mana. Thus the ritual would need to be cast by someone else, as in a Harrowing. Which is where I would come in, as the only Harrowed mage present.”

“What does that mean?” I asked. “I can’t convert it into mana?”

“We have spoken briefly on the different forms energy can take,” Solas answered, as Anders again ceded the floor. “One of the first skills you must learn is how to determine the energy you have available to you, an awareness of what you are drawing from the Fade versus what your body is capable of generating on its own. Life force and mana are both separate from latent energy; you remember the lesson from the Exalted Plains.”

I shuddered as I nodded. The feeling of _life_ flowing into my palms from Anders, the realization that I was pulling energy from the Fade but not _using_ it, was not one I was likely to ever forget. Wisdom’s crystalline voice whispering for me to _breathe_ yet haunted my dreams.

“Rather than try to give you lyrium, I drank it,” Anders said, calmly reminding me of the events of the night I’d Fade-Stepped to save Wisdom. “As a mage, I can convert lyrium into usable energy, and I had you take that energy from me. Arguably, had you known how, you could have taken that energy from the Fade instead-“

“Like Wisdom helped me figure out right after that point.”

“…but that you were too exhausted to try to learn at the time,” Solas concluded, with a bit of a scowl.

Hellen jabbed me pointedly in the ribs.

“So different kinds of energy. Life, mana, Fade, lyrium?”

“It’s bit more complicated than that,” Dorian sighed, “but in the name of skipping three years of theoretical practicum, let’s just say yes. And it sounds like you can use two of those… Life force, like everyone else on the planet, and Fade energy, like everyone except the dwarves and the Tranquil.”

“While only mages use mana, and only mages should use lyrium, as we are coming to learn about the templars.” Hawke added.

Anders nodded. “The point being, you have access to Fade magic at a level otherwise unseen. Mages have varying degrees of access to Fade energies, but yours appears to be limitless. The field you generate at any given time, your ability to _funnel it_ into others is… remarkable.”

“Ludicrous,” Dorian corrected.

Anders nodded. “As you seem to lack the ability to take that connection to the Fade and convert the energy acquired into mana which can then be used to cast magic, someone else would have to use the energy you channel out of the Fade and cast the ritual that would wake up the portion of your mind that is in the Fade.”

“I understand the concept, I suppose,” I confessed, “but I don’t understand the purpose. I can already wake myself up in the Fade. I play in the Fade every night that I think I can get away with it.”

Solas snorted. Hawke pushed himself to his feet and pulled off his belt, laying it down on the floor to create a wide red stripe on the flagstones. He extended a hand to me, pulling me to my feet when I took it.

“Stand on the belt,” he said, and turned me so I had both feet on the fine cloth, the ends stretching out to either side of me. “This side is the waking world. You’re facing us, as you’re awake.” He took my shoulders and spun me around so I was facing the opposite side of the line the belt made. “Now you’re asleep in the waking world, but your mind is awake in the Fade.”

“The belt is the Veil,” I surmised.

Hawke nodded, and then turned me so I had one foot on the floor on either side, straddling the belt. “This is what we want to do. We want you to be awake in _both places at the same time_. Awake in the Fade, awake in reality. Able to see both places at once, as if the Veil did not exist.”

I retreated to my cushion as Hawke scooped up his belt and looped it back around his waist.

“That’s… that’s not supposed to happen,” I said, chilled.

“Theoretically,” Solas said, sounding for all the world like he was merely throwing out hypotheticals, “that could have been the end result of Corypheus’ plan with the Breach. Remove the Veil, and the Fade and waking world could be experienced simultaneously.”

 _This was what the world used to be_ , he was telling me. The chill settled deeper into my bones.

“Which is why you will be the one to power the experiment,” Hawke asserted as he settled back onto his cushion. “The choice to try this has to be yours. We will all do what we can to insure you are kept safe and sane. But if you get one bad feeling you will be able to cut the whole thing off. No power, no experiment.”

“You’re essentially giving me a Harrowing,” I stammered.

“Barbarism aside, yes,” Dorian answered as he grabbed my cushion and pulled it across the floor towards him. I held on and was dragged with it. When I was close enough, Dorian draped an arm around me and wrapped me up in a soothing sort of hug.

“Say it works,” I said when I had control of my voice again. “What would be the benefit of being awake in both places at once?”

“Instant travel,” Hawke said with a smirk. Anders swatted him.

“Communication with spirits like Wisdom,” Anders offered.

“Maker forbid Hellen ends up in the Fade again, you could remove her rather than her have to travel to a rift.” That from Dorian.

 _That_ got my attention. “I could have helped you in Adamant?”

Solas cleared his throat. “Whether you are able to serve as a bridge is neither the point nor overly plausible. This is fundamentally a thought exercise. If you are able to be awake in both places at once, it would serve as a starting point for other chains of considerations.”

“Like?” I prompted.

“Such as the potential for rifts to be fatal for you. And for there to be a relationship between you and the anchor.”

 _A relationship between me and person who made the Veil_ , is what I heard. The chill returned with a vengeance.

“It stands to reason,” Anders confirmed, “that were you and a rift to occupy the same space at the same time, you would both be destroyed.”

“It’s making the hole and I’m filling the hole. An unstoppable force and an immoveable object,” I whispered.

I got a sea of head nods in return.

“I have to know,” I breathed. “I have to… Hellen?”

She hadn’t spoken once since we sat. She met my eyes, her face perfectly neutral.

“Hellen, tell me it’s okay to do this.”

She flinched but quickly recovered.

“Gwennie-“

“Hellen, I won’t do it without your express permission. That won’t make it your fault if it goes wrong, because like Hawke said – I will be in control. I will be able to stop it. But this is your show, your keep, your command. I won’t take an action you can’t condone.”

Hellen was silent for a long time. Eventually she dropped her eyes and sighed. “I do not _want_ for you to be at risk. However, if this... _harrowing_ … can convince you to avoid rifts, and ultimately save your life? It may well be worth it. You have my consent, Gwen, if not my blessing.”

I crawled over to her and threw my arms around her. She returned a crushing sort of hug.

“We could do this now, you know,” Hawke said as I made my way back to my own cushion. “Anders had to figure out how the ritual would work before he would even offer it as an option. There’s no reason to put it off and worry about it.”

“Cullen will kill you,” Dorian interjected in a sing-song voice.

“Bring Cullen down here,” I told him, and the Tevene left the room at a sprint. “Just don’t use the word Harrowing!”

 

*

 

Twenty minutes later – after some _very_ angry words from my Commander – I was standing in between Hawke and Anders, their hands clasped to either side of me and my hands resting atop theirs. I was to merely _open up the tap_ , as it were, and provide the energy Hawke and Anders needed for what was essentially a Harrowing.

Hellen and Dorian were standing on either side of Cullen, off to my right, and Solas was watching me intently over Hawke’s right shoulder.

“You tell me if something feels wrong,” Garrett told me, in a tone pitched not to carry. “I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you.”

“What happened with Feynriel?” I asked as Anders started to murmur.

“Sent him to Tevinter,” Hawke answered, although an eyebrow darted up at the question.

I tried not to sound relieved, but I failed. “So you’ve done this before.”

His mouth twitched up in a ghost of smile. “I’m not Hellen, but I’ve seen my share of Fade shit.”

I had something witty and clever to say, but Hawke’s eyes flew wide and then narrowed to slits. “Pull,” he directed me.

I opened wide the floodgates, drawing as much Fade energy as I could, and channeling it out of my hands into Hawke and Anders.

“Bloody fuck,” Hawke grunted, and then my vision stopped cooperating.

The room went green.

Not green like a bad camera filter or looking at the world through beer bottles. The _air_ went green, in that subtle way the atmosphere looks just _off_ before a bad thunderstorm rolls through.

Hawke, on the other hand, was a pillar of white light. He was still wholly recognizable, but _glowing._ His eyes were blown wide in shock. I realized he and Anders had let go of my hands and I let them rest at my sides as I looked around the room.

Cullen was unchanged. Dorian glowed with the same light as Hawke. Hellen did, too, but that was less important than Wisdom, standing directly in front of her, almost upon Hellen’s feet. She grinned at me and waved happily, and I dazedly waved back. Hellen raised her hand, obviously confused, to wave at me, and the sudden appearance of the anchor was nearly blinding. It was not green, in this vision, but a pulsating sort of darkness, a palm-sized black hole that sucked away all the light that came near it.

I quickly turned to Anders, expecting to see Justice standing between myself and the rogue mage. Instead, I saw Anders as he appeared in the game, split through with veins of glowing blue, a second face superimposed on his own.

Anders was _definitely_ an abomination. I reached up and cupped his cheek.

 _Mother_ , he said in greeting.

“Justice,” I answered. “Why do you call me that?”

“You can hear him?” Anders asked.

I nodded. The face I associated with Justice smiled at me. _It is what you are_.

“You’re not going to tell me?”

_There is nothing more to tell. You do not question being called Gwen._

“I am nobody’s mother.”

“She’s seriously talking to Justice. They’re having a conversation without me.”

 _You are everyone’s Mother_.

I got the impression he had nothing more to say, and I turned towards Solas.

I saw, instead, the Dread Wolf.

If Hawke, Hellen and Dorian were pillars of white light, Solas was the sun. He glowed golden, flickers of green dancing around his fingertips and flashing in his eyes. “How do you not look like this when I see you in the Fade?” I asked, looking around. “And why does Cullen look no different?”

“That’s… a relief, actually,” Cullen breathed softly.

 _“You are seeing their connections_ ,” Justice told me both with his own voice and with Anders’, I assume so everyone else knew the answer to my question. “ _You are seeing them each as they are, as well as how they portray themselves in the Fade. But between those, between reality and projection, there is a different strength of connection. That is what you see_.”

“Is this what you see?”

 _“Yes_.”

“This is what makes certain mages more desirable to demons.”

“ _Yes_.”

“Why have I never seen a demon?”

“ _You don’t want to_.”

“Well, obviously, but-“

_“The answer is that you do not want to see them. You are not looking for them. Your will is such that you won’t see anything in the Fade you don’t specifically wish to.”_

I should have stopped to consider. I should have listened to Hellen’s sharply barked, “Wait!” or Cullen’s “Gwen, don’t!” or even Solas shouting, “Da’len, do not!”

But it only took half a heartbeat to decide I wanted to know how many demons were in the room.

I will regret that decision for the rest of my life.

They were _everywhere_. This many mages, this much magic, the sheer amount of energy I had pulled from the Fade, all tacked on to the constant allure of the anchor on Hellen’s hand, had brought them to us in droves. There were no words for the horror of realizing you had been standing in a room full of amorphous, strangely asymmetrical blobs of evil. I was capable of no reaction beyond utter, paralyzing shock.

I could tell what they were, too. Rage, red and moving about stiffly, sparks of fury flickering with every jerky step. Despair, floating banshees with their faces in their hands. Desire-

The shock vanished in a flare of crystalline rage. I Stepped across the room through the Fade, aware of Justice calling for Anders to stop me. I got to Cullen before anyone else could react.

There were three of them, succubae, clinging to his shoulders, running fingernails along his pants. They’d been watching him for a long time, knew how to find him even when he was awake, drawn to the flicker of his connection to the Fade. I grabbed the first one before she realized I was coming, and in that moment I wanted nothing more than for her to disintegrate into a pile of ash.

The Fade is controlled by will. It was easy to forget I was seeing things – taking action on things – in the Fade.

The Desire demon caught fire with a scream of anguish, pure tortured undulations, until finally exploding into dust.

I turned to the other two, to see them wide-eyed and backing away. “This one is _mine_ ,” I snarled. One immediately turned and fled. The other hesitated, cocking an eye at Cullen. I took a step towards her and she _squeaked_ , following on the heel of her fellow.

I looked around the room. Every eye was on me. Wisdom and Justice and Rage and Despair and Desire and even Sloth, lurking there in the far corner. “Who else wants some?” I challenged.

The room emptied.

“What is going on?” Cullen asked, clearly uncomfortable.

I could see Wisdom had turned and was whispering into Hellen’s ear. Hellen was frowning in concentration. “I think she’s killing demons.”

“Just look at her,” Hawke breathed. “She’s getting _stronger_. I figured she’d be all tuckered out by now.”

“Da’len,” Solas called, and I carefully crossed the room to stand before him. The impulse to simply fade-step across the space was painful to resist, but I managed. Somehow.

“Shut off your mind in the Fade, so that we can make sure your defenses remain intact. It would not serve to incite the wrath of denizens of the Fade and not be able to defend yourself.”

I nodded, and then stopped. “How?”

Solas’ mouth quirked up into that ghost of a smile. “You must will it.”

I snorted. “Should have guessed.”

“Yes, you should have.”

I closed my eyes and focused on the new sensation. I was sleep walking, was the closest I could come to rationalizing it. I was awake and asleep and I needed to be one or the other. I chose _awake_ and opened my eyes.

Solas no longer glowed.

My knees no longer worked.

“Gwen!” Solas barked, lurching forward to catch me as I pitched towards the floor. He scooped me up in his arms and held me there, for a moment only, before passing me off to Cullen as the larger man charged across the room.

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” I insisted. I wasn’t about to ask Cullen to put me down, however.

“When she woke up, her connection to the Fade dipped,” Anders said, looking at me rather clinically. “Something we could eliminate with some practice.”

“Solas, will you check-“

“Yes, Hellen, immediately.”

I got the impression – it was hard to see around Cullen’s arms and lion’s mane pauldrons – that Solas was kneeling on one of the cushions, just as I had found him in the Exalted Plains.

“Her shielding remains intact,” Solas confirmed a few tense minutes later. “It seems a permanent side-effect of her existence, rather than something she is consciously powering.”

“The bubble of reality extending into the Fade?” Anders asked. Solas nodded. “Yes, that would make more sense. She is drawing reality into the Fade just as she is drawing the Fade into the waking world. No amount of exhaustion should interfere with that.”

“So what about me and rifts?” I asked.

“Tomorrow,” Cullen said firmly.

“Cullen, I’m-“

“Tomorrow.” Hellen echoed. I sighed.

Cullen didn’t wait for any further discussion, turning on his heel and carrying me out of the disused ballroom.

 _Oh_ he was mad at me. I could almost feel the heat radiating off of him, and I could not mistake the tremor in his breath.

“There were three of them,” I told him softly.

“Three of what?”

“Demons. Desire demons. Surrounding you. I got the impression they’d been watching you for a long time.”

He stopped mid-step, closing his eyes and freezing in place on the stairwell. "Three..."

“I grabbed one, wrapped my hand around her throat, and burned her to death.”

Cullen pitched to the side to lean heavily on the wall. “And the others?’”

“Fled.”

He shifted me in his arms and set me down. I was two steps above where he stood, and our eyes were almost even for once. I draped my arms over his shoulders and waited for him to formulate a response.

“There were three," he muttered to himself, and I could almost hear the story of Kinloch whispered in the sentence. I wasn't about to ask about the significance of the number; not when the answer most likely involved a memory of torture. He shook himself and focused on me once more. "That’s when you… when you said…”

“When I said you were mine? Yes. And I'll light up any other mother fucker who puts a finger on you, Fade or not.”

He opted to forego a verbal response, grabbing my hips and pulling me into him, crushing my mouth with his. I wrapped my arms around his neck and clung to him for dear life. He was angry and frightened and relieved and helpless and probably drawing his own comparisons between what just happened and the Harrowings he’d seen, and it all came through in his kiss.

When we came up for air, still leaning heavily against the wall of the stairwell, he tipped his forehead to rest on mine and we went cross-eyed trying to gaze at each other from so close. After a moment I leaned back with a giggle, relieved to see a smile on his face.

“What is it going to take,” he asked as he swept me back into his arms and continued up the stairs, “to convince you to stop pushing the envelope? What is the reasoning behind this damnable _need_ to determine how much you can get away with?”

“I’m not trying to push the boundaries,” I answered him, trying to keep my voice as mild as possible. The insinuation that I was exploring my existence just for shits and giggles was a bit aggravating. I wasn’t _Anders_ for fuck’s sake. “I’m trying to figure out what the boundaries _are_. I’m trying to figure out what I am. I’m trying to figure out what is safe and what is _not_. The primary focus behind this is to determine whether a rift would kill me, after all. And right now it’s looking like _yes_. So, congratulations, you win at getting me to stay away from rifts. I’ll even say you and Hellen were right to be mad at me at the crossroads.”

Cullen snorted. “Thank the Maker for small victories.”

“I’m not doing this to hurt you or scare you, Cullen. I’m trying to figure out who and what I am. I’m trying to figure out my place in the world, my purpose.”

“What you already are is enough,” he countered softly. “A healer, a vital member of the Inquisition, the Herald of Andraste, the love of my life…”

My heart climbed into my throat at the little catch in his voice.  
“You are already more than enough,” he finished, and I couldn’t miss the sadness in his voice. “I wish you could be content.”

“I wouldn’t have been able to protect your sleep – and ultimately bring us together – if not for my decision to investigate this Fade weirdness with Solas to begin with,” I reminded him. “Today I chased off the demons who have dogged your steps, and learned how to see them, proved I could kill them. Again, I would call that worthwhile.”

“Don’t do this for me,” he started, the anger building in his voice.

“I’m doing it for _me_ ,” I argued. “I need to know if a rift could kill me or if I could close it. I need to know how to fight for you, for everyone. I need to know _why She brought me here_. She said I would find purpose, Cullen, and I don’t think She just meant for the space of this year. I don’t think She was talking just about the fight against Corypheus. And, as much as I love you, and as much as I believe it was you She was talking about when She said I would be embraced here, I don’t think my purpose is _just_ to love you, _just_ to keep you healthy. I think that’s an incredibly satisfying side-effect.”

Cullen sighed and set me on my feet. I glanced around in surprise to see us in our apartment. I hadn’t been paying attention to where we were, being too caught up in our conversation.

“I didn’t ask you to come today to be cruel, or to taunt you or make you feel helpless,” I said, wearily drawing my conclusion. “I sent Dorian for you because _I respect you_ and I know you would do everything you could to keep me safe. I wanted you to know what was going on, I wanted you to see it all first-hand, rather than to hear about me second-hand in the war room tomorrow night. I don’t want to learn all this Fade bullshit _in spite_ of you. I want to figure it out _with you_ , I want you to be beside me every step of the way. And if I can help you, or help our cause, or keep Thedas from ending in a ball of fire, I’m going to do it.”

Cullen sighed again. “I have to concede. Just let it be said I don’t like these risks you keep insisting on.”

“Says the man who quit lyrium knowing full well it could kill him,” I retorted. “You don’t get to take massive risks and then get mad at mine.”

“Of course I do,” he countered with a weak smile. “Nobody ever said life was fair.”

“Ass,” I laughed, swatting him. He caught my hand and used it to drag me against his chest.

“I have to get back to work,” he breathed into my hair, brushing his lips against my ear and forehead rather restlessly. “Promise you won’t do anything else dangerous before I see you tonight?”

“I can promise I don’t intend to do anything dangerous as of right now,” I told him honestly, and he laughed.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he laughed, and then pressed a kiss to the top of my head before striding out of the apartment.

I stretched and looked around, too listless to nap but not knowing what needed done.

I was saved by a knock on the door.

“Gwen?” Jamy’s voice called from the stairwell beyond.

“Oh, no,” I said as I opened the door. “The Chargers causing trouble?”

“I think Twitch might be developing a fever,” she said in a low voice.

I left for the infirmary at a dead sprint.


	52. Pt III Ch 4: The Truth About Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herein we learn what makes up the heart of a Charger, and we once again contemplate the _after_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You want a spinoff?  
> You do, don't you?  
> I thought so.  
> I'm writing a spinoff of Keep to the Stars that is all about the Chargers! After you finish this chapter you might hop over [there](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6063355/chapters/13899100) and take a look-see. It's the third installment of this series.

Twitch was pale, but for a flush in his cheeks, and the fever wasn’t bad – yet.

“Have you been eating and toileting normally?” I asked, hands pressed to his rosy cheeks.

“Have I been what?”

“Did you shit yesterday or today,” Krem clarified harshly.

Twitch snorted. “Yeah. What kind of question is that?”

“Your guts were hanging out,” I reminded him. “I like to know they’re working right.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh,_ ” Krem scoffed.

“You pass any weird colors? It look like tar or blood?”

“Maker, no,” Twitch laughed, and my concern ratcheted back another degree.

“Alright. This is probably just a secondary infection. Easy enough to handle.”

“Shit,” Twitch breathed. “Ma… Gwen, look. You can’t give me penicillin, I’m allergic. I’ll go into anaphylaxis.”

It was ten full seconds before the shock of what he said cleared enough for me to realize _how_ he had said it: perfect, unaccented English.

“Wha…wh-what?” I heard myself stutter.

“I know what that blue bag was, and it was definitely not the kind of thing you'd take to the office every day. Patrick probably had PTSD and used it as a bug-out bag, right? No way you didn’t have a major med kit in there. So since I know you have it here, and this is exactly the time you would use it, you have to know. _Don’t give me penicillin_ ,” he emphasized the last, and I desperately tried to put all the pieces together.

“What?” Krem breathed.

I sank slowly to the side of the bed and twined my fingers through Twitch’s. He squeezed my fingers gently and smiled, waiting for me to catch my breath.

“Krem, tell Jamy to fetch Anders,” I told the Charger Lieutenant. “Then you and the other Chargers sit on the other side of the room and give Twitch and I a chance to talk. No interruptions.”

“But-“

“Please.”

Krem paused for a moment before nodding and turning on his heel, calling – politely – for Jamy.

“Where were you born?” I asked Twitch when my mouth caught up with my thoughts. I intentionally spoke in English.

“Just outside Rochester, New York,” he answered in kind.

My hands were shaking – fiercely – and I felt like I couldn’t keep my breath. I focused for a moment on slowing my heart rate and respiratory rate before nodding slowly. Twitch squeezed my hand again.

“This is how I felt when I saw your damn shoes,” he said softly. “Take your time.”

“Why now?” I asked, skipping over the questions that would outline what I could probably guess his story to be. “Why did you wait until now?”

“Beside from needing to avoid anaphylactic shock? I heard about the others, at the Winter Palace, and I… I worried that you would start looking for more of us and maybe suspect me. I wasn’t ever going to say anything,” he confessed. “But then, the other day, when I thought I was dying… it didn’t seem right. I didn’t want you to find out after – or even suspect it – and never know. Infection is what kills people here, more often than not, and I’m not about to make the same mistake twice.”

I nodded again, taking another long breath. “When did you come here?”

“Late in the afternoon of Friday, September the twenty-fifth, twenty-fifteen,” he whispered, and I watched as his eyes filled with unshed tears as my own spilled over.

“I didn’t want…“ he stopped, swallowed, tried again. “I heard about the memory you got back after Adamant and I didn’t want to speak up, didn’t want to try to horn in on your grief. But I knew what you’d seen as soon as I heard your scream, even all the way in the ‘Rest as I was.”

“Where were you?”

“The top of the Pru, waiting for my girlfriend with a ring in my pocket. I watched the smoke start boiling out of the T stations and I knew… I just knew. She wasn’t ever coming. Then everyone stopped moving. Like time stopped. And this… this woman, this blond woman, just appeared at my table and offered me a deal. Said I could save another world, said I could get another chance at another life if I just took Her hand. She would get me out of there, if I promised to do whatever I could to help Her Herald when she arrived. Her Herald would need acceptance, need help staying alive… she was from my world, somebody who would understand everything I had lost, but I would have years to wait before I met her. She was going to send me back far enough to keep people from looking for me. None of that made sense… until now.”

He shrugged stiffly. “My other option at that point was going out the window, like the jumpers from the towers on 9-11..”

I shuddered. The Prudential – _the Pru_ – was one of the taller buildings in Boston. Patrick had always talked about taking me up to a restaurant at the top, but we hadn’t made it. I couldn’t imagine jumping off – but then, the stairwell would funnel the smoke and heat and would be just as deadly.

“When did you get here?”

“The day after the Battle of Denerim,” he answered. “Plopped down right in front of The Pearl. I wandered around in a daze for days, but so did everyone else. I pretended to be struck dumb, like I couldn’t speak, and got taken in by the Chantry. That first day, I hid everything I’d brought with me – my phone, my keys, my wallet – in an alley, and did everything I could to blend in. I didn’t learn Kingspeak as quickly as you did, but eventually I could pass as just another victim of the Blight, somebody trying to start over. I trained with some of the templars in the Chantry – nice sort – and eventually started making my living as a man-at-arms, and ventured out of Denerim for the first time when the news came that Hawke had killed the Arishok in Kirkwall.”

“Did you know?” I asked, utterly enraptured by his story. “Did you know where you were, what was happening?”

“Did I play Dragon Age?” he asked, and laughed at my expression. “Luckily, yes. Just the second game, because… well. The reasons don’t matter. I knew enough. Cindy – that was my girlfriend – was a nut for Inquisition, and I had gotten enough information from her to know the Chargers when I saw them forming. I knew they would take me to the Herald, and I signed on.”

“How?”

“How what?”

“How did you sign on?”

Twitch smiled a bit slyly. “Same way you pulled the doorknob off Cullen’s door when you got mad. Same way you healed up Lyal and Devon in record time. I decided it needed to happen, so it did.”

“Another good reason to keep it secret,” I breathed.

Twitch shrugged. “I still had to prove myself. All I did was make sure they gave me a chance. Regardless of who I was born, I’m a Charger now. I’m Twitch, and will be until I die.”

“Can I know? Your first name, I mean.”

“Will,” he answered after only a moment’s hesitation. “William McIntire.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“What’s happened?” Anders demanded as he burst into the room.

“Twitch has developed a secondary infection,” I answered smoothly without looking up.

Anders dropped his hands to the Charger’s stomach, frowned for a second, and then blue light flared beneath his palms. Twitch hissed in a breath and then leaned back into his pillows wearily.

“Not dead again?” he asked.

Anders nodded. “You will live to fight on another day.”

“Thanks,” Twitch told the renegade mage.

“I need to talk to Anders,” I told Twitch, this time speaking to him in Common rather than the English we’d been talking in. “And Krem is going to jump all up in your shit. I’ll be back, alright? We’ll talk more later.”

Twitch shrugged. “If you want. I won’t say no, ma.”

The sinking suspicion that my position as Charger mom had originated with Twitch did not sit well with me. I stood and directed a sharp glare at Krem as I followed Anders out of the room. “Be nice,” I said as we pushed through the door.

Krem, for what it was worth, merely shrugged. “Chargers are Chargers, regardless of where they came from.”

One worry off my mind, I followed Anders to the rooms by the garden that had been taken over by the Kirkwall crew.

“Did you feel anything weird when you touched Twitch?” I asked as soon as we were alone.

Anders shrugged. “Minor infection, caught early. Good call on your part, keeping them under observation.”

“No, not _that_. Anything like… like _this_ ,” I reached out and caught his hand, seeing him shiver as the goosebumps surged up his arm from my touch.

“No! Maker, no, why would-“ His eyes flew open wide. “Why would you ask me that, Gwen?”

“He’s one of them, one of _us_ , one of the people Andraste sent here,” I told him, dropping gracelessly onto their couch. “Just like Michael Dupree and Jacquelyn – whatever her last name is. Was. Whatever. God, I should have paid more attention to her license.”

Anders moved to sit beside me, as if in a daze. “No. No, he doesn’t feel _anything_ like you do.”

“He’s got the willpower trick, though,” I informed him. “He essentially willed the Chargers into letting him try out. He says he got in on skill, but it was will that got him to the door. He’s been here since the day after the Battle of Denerim.”

“Andraste’s ankle mo-“

“Don’t. Anything but that.”

Anders shot me a confused look and then shrugged. “Alright. So this Fade-Veil-weirdness you do isn’t a universal trait where you come from. The willpower is, though. So the Veil bit is something Andraste gave you, maybe when she stripped your memories?”

I sighed and tipped my head onto the back of the couch. “She didn’t strip his memories, but she did take mine. He can’t do weird Veil stuff, but I can. We both have amplified willpower. If the willpower bit was an aspect of being part-spirit-“

“You’re not part spirit,” Anders said, dismissing the idea. “The people in your world aren’t human-spirit amalgamations, I would have recognized that immediately. If not in you, then in Twitch when I healed him for the first time in the Exalted Plains. You’d behave more like Justice and I, and not like you’re somehow part of the Veil.”

I sighed. “So why does Cole think I’m like him?”

“Because he feels the Fade on you,” Anders shrugged. “He’s not very good at being clear, you know.”

I snorted humorlessly. “Poor cinnamon bun tries his best. So… now what?”

“We take this new data to the next meeting we have about you,” Anders shrugged. “You’re clearly special. Your abilities are truly unique, and won’t be found on other people from your world. This is all important information, Gwen. It narrows down our options.”

“To what?”

“Divine interference,” he said, with absolutely no sarcasm in his tone.

“Anders-“

“I’m as cynical as anyone, but there’s a clear line between cynicism and denial. A woman who looks like all the statues of Andraste brought people to Thedas from a completely different world-“

“To different times,” I added softly.

Anders gave a _see_? sort of gesture and continued, “-to different points in time, and in the process gives you the power to exist outside metamagical physics. So either you were unique in your world, and chosen for that unique trait, or your choosing has _created_ this unique trait in you. You’re special, either by selection or design.”

“How many more do you think there are?” I asked.

“How many people could have died that day? How many people could have been sent here and presumed dead?”

“They called it the Northeast megalopolis,” I told him sadly. “It stretched from DC to Boston, with a handful of major cities in between; in the associated urban areas, there were something like fifty million people.”

“What?” he breathed.

I nodded. “I don’t know how many were killed, but the number is probably very easily called _a lot_.”

Anders was shaking his head. “I would say everyone who died that day is a potential transplant, but that… that’s many times the population of Thedas. There’s no way even a fraction of that many were brought here.”

“So the answer is, _anyone’s guess_?”

“Pretty much.”

“So what do we do?”

“Keep looking,” he answered immediately. “But also… understand that you’re special. You were delivered directly to Hellen, someone who could both understand your language and empathize with falling out of a portal. It seems everyone else was dropped and left to find their way, and not all of them did. It all supports the idea that _you_ are the most important person on Thedas right now. We just need to figure out why.”

“No. Hellen-“

“Hellen is a tool with a singular purpose,” Anders argued. “She exists to counter the Breach. Just like Solona’s purpose was to stop the Blight and Hawke’s purpose was to tame Kirkwall. We each of us have a purpose. Some of them are more prominent than others. You, on the other hand, are completely different.”

“What if I’m not?” I whispered, trying to keep the sudden looming horror out of my voice. “What if my purpose is _the next fight_? Like, Hawke and Hellen both lived through the Blight to warm up to their own battles. What if I’m here now to prepare for the next big war?”

Anders’ fingertips were on my wrist, his eyes wide and his voice shaking. “Is there another war coming?”

“What if I’m made of Veil, to combat the person who is trying to bring the Veil down?”

“Are you talking about Corypheus?”

I shook my head. “No. Corypheus didn’t make the Veil. He’s… he’s a tool with a specific purpose, too.”

Anders wrapped his hands around both my wrists, and I realized both my hands were clenched tightly into fists. “Gwen. Tell me what’s coming. Maybe we can prevent it, or use that to focus our research about you-“

I pulled away and leapt up from the couch. “No. No, not- not _yet_. Corypheus, the rifts, the Breach _first_. Then this. We can’t talk about this, not yet.”

“Gwen, please-“ he started, standing up and following me as I retreated.

I was afraid. Terrified, really. What if Anders brought it up with the others? What if he told Solas I feared I was the tool to fight the next big war… a person with a baffling connection to the Veil to combat the person trying to bring the Veil down? What would that do to Solas, to our friendship? Would it force him to leave early, to show his hand, to change his plans?

In my terror, I did something I didn’t even consider possible before that morning: I reached out to the Veil and wrenched myself fully awake, allowing the eerie green light of the Fade to wash over my perception of reality.

Before me, superimposed over Anders, was the face of Justice. I reached out and cupped their cheeks with my hands.

“Justice, do you know about the creation of the Veil?”

Anders recoiled, and Justice stayed silent a moment, as if considering. _Yes_.

“I’ve said too much. It can’t get out that I know… everything I know you were just listening to. Do you understand why this is important?”

Another long pause. _I do not believe you would be harmed._

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

 _I understand_.

“I can’t explain to Anders why this is so important. Not yet. Do you understand why?”

 _I understand_.

“I need you to keep him from accidentally betraying me.”

 _I will not let him speak of this, Mother. Not until you release me from this oath_.

I released a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and took a moment to look around. If I considered the walls of the keep nonexistent in the Fade, I could look around and pinpoint every mage by the strength of their connection to the Veil. The library looked like a candlelit vigil, but beneath it – the golden glow of Solas, too far away to be aware of my conversation.

I closed my eyes in the Fade – subconsciously wrenching my head to the side as I did it – and sunk wearily back onto the couch. Anders was standing in the middle of the room staring at me in shock.

“You would not even know it was a betrayal until far too late,” I told him, my voice barely a whisper. “I will tell you everything. Eventually. But it cannot happen yet. There is too much yet at risk. You have to trust me.”

“I trust you,” Anders replied, slowly lowering himself back onto the couch cushion beside me. “Gwen… how did you… we used a tremendous amount of energy to… this morning and you… did you really just do that on your own?”

I considered what he was asking and then weakly laughed. “I told you, I’m a quick study. I see it once and then it’s like instinct. Not even… Wisdom just affirmed that a Fade Step was possible and I did it.”

“If you are the tool for a specific purpose,” he murmured, although I could see Justice flare warningly around his eyes, “then the battles to come must be terrible indeed. You are… you are like nothing I have ever seen. No one has ever had this sort of power, not in all of human history.”

“I hope we’re wrong,” I answered. “I hope I’m just here to teach people about sanitation and hygiene, objective complete.”

Anders laughed, but there was a tension between us that hadn’t existed before, and I regretted it.

“I will tell you,” I told him after we were both silent for awhile with our own thoughts. “Someday, hopefully soon, Corypheus will fall and I will tell you everything.”

“Everything?” Anders asked, with a quirk to one eyebrow. “Including how you wouldn’t eat your vegetables and stayed up past your bedtime?”

“Everything,” I confirmed. “Including how I ended up naked in a fountain with a bucket full of goldfish when I was in college.”

Anders burst out laughing. “Surely you can tell that one now!”

I winked and leveraged myself off the couch. “And then what would you have to look forward to?”

I paused at the door as I made my way out. “Anders?”

“Gwen?”

“Where’s Ser Pounce-a-lot?”

Anders grinned at me. “Travelling with Solona. He and her mabari are rather fond of each other, and I didn’t want to take him on the ship to Kirkwall.”

“So… Solona knows you left the Wardens?”

He nodded, although his grin slipped. “I told her if she left on some mad quest, I got to leave on some mad quest, too. I meant to stop her, honestly. But it worked out in the end.”

I nodded. “I hope you get him back.”

“Me too.”

With a weak wave I slipped through the door. I needed to see Twitch again, needed to touch base with the rest of the Chargers, needed to figure out how the hell I was going to tell all this to Hellen – to Leliana! -  and whether I needed to outright _lie_ to Cullen. If I told him I straddled the Veil again already, and without help, he’d put me under house arrest.

He might even steal my clothes again.

With the thought bringing a smile to my face, I set about fulfilling my obligations across Skyhold.

 

*

 

Twitch was engrossed in a meeting with the Chargers when I returned to check on him. And by _Chargers_ I mean there were thirty damn people crammed in my infirmary. Bull was sitting next to Twitch’s bed, Krem on the opposite side, and everyone else sitting as close as they could around him.

I could tell at a glance that his health wasn’t the issue; his color was good, he was alert and engaging with the others. Everyone had identical serious expressions on their faces, so I couldn’t be sure how everyone was taking the news. All eyes swung to me when I slipped through the door, and I had Bull’s attention for a split second longer, but their gazes snapped back to Twitch almost immediately.

I made my way to my desk as silently as I could manage, settling in to catch up on my notes. Jamy peeked out of the wash room, waving briefly before ducking back out of sight. I could hear Bull’s baritone rumble but I did my best to ignore his words. I was a peripheral member of the Chargers, enough to apparently be allowed to stay in the room for _Charger business_ , but I didn’t believe for one moment that I would be welcomed in the conversation itself.

I didn’t have much to write – Anders had done all the major work that day – and when I finished I crept into the washroom to talk to Jamy.

“I told him I couldn’t leave, that someone had to be here, and that if he didn’t like it he could send for you,” she confessed in a rush. “I hope that was the right thing to do, I’ve never had to stand up to… to…”

“You did the right thing,” I said, putting my arms out in an invitation that Jamy immediately accepted, throwing herself into the hug. “The Iron Bull is nothing if not reasonable, and he understands the chain of command. You had your orders and you followed them, and he probably respects you for it.”

“Re-re-respects _me_?” she stuttered. Jamy had always struck me as the Thedosian equivalent of myself: brunette, stocky, sturdy, unflappable. To see her to shaken was not something I was prepared for.

“Of course, Jamy. Is he the only male qunari you’ve met?”

She nodded, and I hugged her a bit tighter. “I can’t make any sweeping generalizations because he’s the only one I know, too, but you did right by Bull.”

“Thanks, Gwen,” she said, wiping her eyes dry as she pulled away.

“You’re welcome, Jamy,” I replied with a smile. “Did he ask you to come in here?”

“He asked for the room… this was as far as I was willing to go.”

“What are you doing in here?” I asked, looking around.

“Cleaning. I was too flustered to think to pick up my book. One of the Chargers – Grim, I think – stopped in to visit right after you left with Anders, and Krem sent him running to get Bull. The whole group of them got here a few minutes later. I didn’t know they would be here so long!”

“I’ll get your book,” I said. “But if you are comfortable going out in the main room you’re welcome to sit at my desk. You don’t need to hide in here.”

“I… I think I’ll stay in here for now, but thank you for the offer.”

“You in there Perky?” Bull’s voice rumbled from the other side of the closed washroom door.

“Yeah Bull,” I called as he cracked the door and peered in. I waved him in. Jamy stiffened almost imperceptibly, but if I saw it I knew Bull saw it.

“Wanted to thank your healer, there, for giving us the room.”

Jamy managed to voice an appropriately polite response while I winked at Bull, who for his part didn’t react.

“Consensus was you should be out here for the conclusion, little spy,” Bull next spoke to me.

I nodded. “Jamy left her book out there, is it alright if she sits at my desk and reads? I couldn’t make out what you were saying from there earlier.”

“Sure thing,” Bull said with a nod, and we all left the wash room.

There was a space cleared for me at the foot of Twitch’s bed where I was encouraged to perch.  After I was settled I noticed they all seemed to be waiting for me to speak.

“I’ve just got one question, if that’s what you’re wanting,” I said, a bit flustered.

Krem and Twitch both nodded.

“Who started calling me _mom_?”

The room exploded into laughter and I saw no less than ten hands pointing at Grim.

“You damn liars,” I laughed, swatting hands down. “Don’t pin this on Grim.”

The taciturn man shrugged.  “If the shoe fits,” he muttered, in a tone pitched far higher than I would have anticipated. It was the first time I’d ever heard him utter anything more than a grunt, and I had to fight to keep my jaw from dropping.

“Really?” I asked, far more seriously. “Grim called me Mom?”

Another sea of happy nods. “Well, shit. I’m sorry for doubting you.”

It was the right thing to say; every face turned toward me bore a smile, even Bull’s.

“Questions for _Twitch_ ,” Krem prompted. I shrugged.

“I have a million,” I confessed. “Who his favorite band was and whether we’d ever visited the same places or where his family was from and what he was doing in Boston and I don’t know. It’s endless. But it’s nothing I _need_ to know. If it needs to be buried – or stay buried – that’s Twitch’s decision.”

“You don’t need to know what his mission was or why he chose the Chargers or-“ Krem prompted.

“No,” I interrupted. “I don’t trust him one ounce less now than I did yesterday. Or any of the rest of you, for that matter. What you said earlier, Krem… Chargers are Chargers, regardless of where they came from. I don’t have any complaints about any of you, and this doesn’t change that.”

Twitch’s smile could only be described as transcendent.

“Tell her,” Bull grunted.

Twitch nodded. “I did make some suggestions on those first days after we lost Haven to try to make sure you were accepted. I took those bandages off your back and carried them for you. I was one of the first to give you a ride through the snow. And I brought you food and said at some point you should just crash out in our tent, since we could keep an eye on you and Krem could understand you. And I _wanted_ you to be accepted by the Chargers, and that counts for a lot, as you know. I have to own that.”

I shrugged. “Thank you. I appreciate being able to be a part of this. Is everybody else okay with-“

“Yes,” I was overruled by a clamor of approval. _The ends justify the means_ seemed to have been the Charger consensus. They liked having me as _Charger mom_ and if Twitch was the reason that happened, then Twitch was okay in their book.

“Alright,” I laughed. “So what’s the problem?”

“No problem,” Bull answered, and a cheer went up.

“There’s a handful of you who have one more day under observations,” I announced, sliding off the foot of the bed. “The rest of you can get out.”

Laughter and jeers met that announcement, but I made my way out of the crowd with a smile on my face. I said goodnight to Jamy – who looked far more relaxed now that the atmosphere had become jovial – and ducked out of the infirmary.

 

*

 

Cullen came home late that night. He hadn’t moved his things, but he did come bearing a pack of his clothes, which I took from him and stowed in the last free wardrobe while he methodically stripped out of his armor.

“You’re going to be mad at me,” I solemnly informed him as I sat on the side of the bed and watched him work.

He paused for only a moment. “What did you do?”

“I did the Veil thing again. I needed to talk to Justice so I just… did. I didn’t collapse or faint or char any demons or even _see_ any demons. I talked to Justice and came right back.”

Cullen started to laugh, shaking his head a bit ruefully. “It’s been, what, six hours since you said you didn’t intend-“

“I didn’t! Something came up and I was… I was rattled.”

He quirked an eyebrow at me before ducking under the quilted shirt he wore underneath the layers of armor to protect his under clothes from rust – or worse. “Dare I ask what rattled you?”

“I have to bring it up at the war room meeting tomorrow,” I said steadily, and Cullen froze in the act of dropping the padded tunic onto the back of the couch. “But I found someone else from my world in the Inquisition.”

“What?” Cullen demanded, striding toward me as the padding hit the floor, forgotten. “Who?”

“One of the Chargers. Twitch. The one who was disemboweled by the Terror at the crossroads. He developed a fever, a secondary infection, and he said he didn’t want to die without me knowing. Anders healed him and then I went with Anders back to the rooms the Kirkwall crew are occupying-“

“Kirkwall crew?” Cullen interrupted.

“Hawke and Merril and Anders,” I shrugged. “Hawke’s little family. Anyway. I went back to talk to Anders about it because I needed to know if Twitch did the same weird thing to the Veil as me and Anders said he didn’t but he definitely has the will thing and when I got back all the Chargers were there and Bull was having a meeting but the Chargers think everything’s okay but _I swear I had a good reason_.”

Cullen was laughing when I finally stopped for breath. “I’m not angry.”

“Oh, thank the Maker.”

“Why did you tell me all of that?”

“Because I never, ever, _ever_ want you to think I would lie to you. And because I have to keep so much to myself already, I don’t want to add to it if I don’t have to.”

Cullen’s expression softened, and he went back to pick up the padding from the floor. “Is it tough for you? To keep all those secrets?”

I threw myself backward across the bed with a huff. “You have no idea. There are some that I am absolutely convinced I’m going to be killed for, either for telling or for keeping. I’m _so_ looking forward to Corypheus being dead so I can get the last of this shit off my chest.”

Cullen stretched himself across the bed beside me, reaching up to brush the stray hairs out of my face. “Are you saying we’re going to kill him?”

“I’m saying it’s still completely possible,” I answered with a smirk. “We can still fuck this all up.”

Cullen heaved a sigh. “I’m looking forward to the day where _that_ isn’t something you say anymore.”

“Oh, Cullen, we’re _human_ ,” I laughed. “We can _always_ fuck things up.”

My Commander snorted a laugh in response. “That’s not helpful.”

“Gotta keep those expectations low, so you’re less likely to be disappointed.”

He laughed hard enough that he dropped his head onto the bed, his hand plopping onto the coverlet between us. “I expect a lot from you, but never cynicism. What’s gotten into you?”

“I…. I can’t talk about it yet.”

His laugh evaporated. “Gwen?”

“Not yet. I told Anders too much and I had to ask Justice to help him keep quiet and I am afraid of making the same mistake again. I can’t… I can’t risk it. There is too much at stake.”

“Something about Corypheus?”

I shook my head, _no_. “What comes after. I’m trying… I’m trying to prevent something. Something awful. And I won’t know if I’m successful until it’s far too late.”

Cullen sat upright on the bed. “How awful?”

“I don’t know. It happens after my foresight ends. Maybe. I don’t see it, don’t know how it happens or even _if_ it happens but I’m trying to prevent it and _even that is too much_. We can’t talk about the _after_ , Cullen, not until Corypheus is gone.”

“Are you telling me there’s something _worse than Corypheus_?”

I swallowed. “Yes.”

“Maker’s breath, Gwen-“

“This is what I’m talking about! This is why I keep _pushing the envelope_. The very instant I _can_ tell you, I will, and then you will understand, And you shouldn’t even know there _is_ something after. Please don’t mention it, to anyone. _Anyone_.”

“Is there someone in the Inquisition who isn’t who they seem?” Cullen asked shrewdly a moment later.

“Do you really have to ask me that, after _Blackwall?”_   I retorted. 

“Gwen, I have to know-“  
“And you will. The very second it is safe to tell you. I swear it, Cullen.”

“If the safety of the Inquisition is at risk-“

“It’s not. Not if we keep our damn _mouths shut_.”

“If there’s a later risk we could address now-“

“We can’t. Cullen, listen to me. _You have to trust me_. You trust me with your headaches and your dreams and my advice on the future, _please_ , for the love of everything that is good in this world _trust me right now_.”

He set his jaw. “The security of Skyhold is _my_ job, Gwen. _My_ judgment. Not yours.”

“The future of Skyhold, of the Inquisition, _of your job_ is my job. This is a future risk. And only that – a _risk._ A risk I promise you won’t come anywhere near fruition for at least two years, and even then it won’t be _here_.”

He pushed himself off the bed and took a couple paces away. “I’m not sure I can leave this alone.”

I swallowed and said something I had not intended to use. “Cullen. It is entirely possible that if it comes out I’m preparing for a threat post-Corypheus that I will be killed. Or, if not killed, kidnapped or maybe just crippled like Neria… I wouldn’t be a threat if I was missing my eyes and tongue.”

“Who?” He demanded, striding back to me. “Who would do that to you?”

“Someone who was just following orders, like the entirety of the Crows,” I answered, and Cullen’s jaw _creaked_ he clenched it so hard.

“Whoever you’re concerned about is not operating alone,” he surmised, slowly closing his eyes and trying to regain his poise. “You’re not playing a hand of Wicked Grace, you’re setting up a chess board.”

I nodded silently once his eyes reopened, and he turned to slowly ease back onto the bed beside me.

“And me storming off to try to muster my forces will expose your strategy.”

I nodded again.

Cullen bit his lip so hard I expected to see blood on his teeth. “I cannot protect you from a threat I cannot see.”

I shook my head and turned to put my hands out to cup his face. “Right now, there is no threat. Not _now_. I am still choosing my pieces and planning my strategy. Nothing has been moved, yet, the game is not yet begun. Merely the invitation to sit at the board.”

Cullen swallowed, and I watched him fight to control his anger and fear. “What can I do?”

“Trust me,” I answered immediately. He opened his mouth to argue and I pressed a thumb to his lips. “Focus on the now. Focus on the Dales, on Corypheus, on making sure _after_ is even something we have to worry about. The day this is over, truly over, and the six of us are standing in the war room looking at a clean map table, that is when I will tell you everything, and we will start preparing. Not one second before.”

He nodded slowly. “What did you tell Anders?”

“I didn’t _tell him_ anything,” I answered with a sigh. “I was thinking out loud and he picked up more pieces than I thought he would. And even then, it was supposition. I was trying to figure out my purpose. If Andraste _gave me_ this weird Veil shit, or if I was born with it and she chose me specifically… either way it implies that I’m here for more than my foresight. Twitch knew the same story about Kirkwall and the Blight as I do, more or less, and had a bit of knowledge about the formation of the Inquisition. Theoretically he could have served as a Seer, as could any one of a million other people in my world. But he doesn’t have a bubble of Fade around him like I do, or else Anders would have noticed. So there’s something different about me that just my origins can’t explain. We were hypothesizing about that and I don’t know if he guessed right but it’s not anything we can talk about.”

Cullen was nodding. “And you slipped into the Fade to talk to Justice and make sure Anders kept quiet?”

I nodded. “Anders seemed to understand.”

Cullen sighed. “What a quagmire you bring.”

I echoed the sound. “I know, right?”


	53. Pt III Ch 5: From the Other Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen brings revelations to the first post-Halamshiral war room meeting.

The next morning mimicked the one before, with the marked lack of nudity. Cullen and I had stayed up late into the night talking about everything and nothing, hopes and dreams for _after_ and anecdotes from our childhood. I awoke alone, sprawled across the otherwise empty bed, with Hellen’s smiling face in the air above me and the sounds of Dorian pouring baths on the floor above.

“What did you find on Jacqueline’s phone?” she asked in lieu of a greeting.

“Yesterday was such a clusterfuck I never even looked at it,” I confessed.

“Is that something I’m going to hear about before the war room or after?”

“We should meet before Morrigan gets here, and then reconvene after,” I asserted. Hellen nodded her consent, and then it wasn’t brought up again for the remainder of the morning. Dorian regaled us with random nonsense during our bath, and then they both vanished to leave me sitting at the high-top work table with Jacqueline’s (fully charged) phone in my hands.

With far less excitement than I expected, I unplugged one new phone and set the other on the charger, to soak up the rays of the weak winter sun as I turned on the deceased woman’s device.

There was no pass code, thank god.

Without really knowing where to look first, I checked her message history, and was surprised to see the last text sent was listed as being from February 18th, 2016. It was simple – mundane, even – a _I’ll call you when I get there_ that, sadly, had likely never been followed through on. On a whim, I opened up the call history.

Twenty-seven outgoing phone calls had been made to the same number.

_My_ number.

According to the date on the phone, they had been made only seventeen days previous.

She’d been calling me from Thedas, on the day we’d left for Halamshiral.

I frantically grabbed my own phone from the tabletop, knowing I hadn’t run the battery completely down the last time I had used it, and turned it on, anxiously watching the startup screen.

I had airplane mode on – I turned it off – and waited breathlessly for the phone to update.

Nothing.

I don’t know what I expected to see. Missed calls? Voicemails? Jacqueline might have had a force of will as strong as mine and Twitch’s, but she couldn’t force voicemail to work on a planet with no cell towers and no servers.

The idea of her frantically calling over and over again, the picture it painted of her last hours, made the bile rise in my throat.

How had she gotten my number?

_How had she known I was here to call me_?

Had Andraste told her? Had she been able to pass word on to my family – _who lived across the street_ – and thus get my number?

I clicked and swiped furiously through her photos and messages until a story began to appear.

She babysat my nephew, and had since he was tiny. I’d only made the trip out to meet the little nugget a time or two, and never met the babysitter; Jacqueline must have been the helpful neighbor my brother had referred to. My phone number was saved in her phone as an emergency contact for my nephew.

She knew _of_ me.

She knew my family.

She had pictures in her phone of my nephew that had been taken only a month or so before.

He was alive.

I read through her text conversation with my brother, backwards, not wanting to take the time to scroll up to the proper date and instead piecing together the conversation in reverse chronological order.

 

_September 29, 2015_

_They are running it on the news right now. I’ve got little man in the other room so he doesn’t listen to his gramma on TV. I’m so sorry I never got the chance to meet her, your sister seemed super chill from everything I’ve heard._

 

Apparently my mother had given an interview to the local news outlets on how the family had believed I was well and truly dead. Jacqueline’s text messages to other friends – while she was watching my nephew, it seemed – outlined the tragedy as she saw it. Small town girl from Iowa runs off to the East Coast, gets married, dies in a national disaster.

I got a rough sketch of the world from her phone, but most of her discussion of events was done in exclamations and expressions of disbelief. Things like “Are you watching the news right now?” and “I know I can’t believe it either,” did little to clue me in on what I had missed.

It left me with a sick feeling in my gut. She was the first person to be brought to Thedas on a day other than September the twenty-fifth. Was there some cataclysm on the day she left? Was my nephew yet living?

There was no way of knowing, now. If the call had connected, if Gaspard hadn’t been a _murderous twat_ , if we had gotten to her sooner, if Andraste had dropped her in _my_ lap instead of trying to set her up in Orlais, if, if, _if_.

There was more to be gleaned from her phone, I was sure, but before melancholy could overtake me I opened up Jacqueline’s music folder instead.

The girl had over a hundred gigs of music, and easily half of it was junk by my standards. She liked club music, remixes of potentially good songs, and had literally nothing not produced in the previous decade. Some of the artists I was fond of that were more popular showed up in her list, and I gravitated towards the names I knew. The last thing she listened to popped up and I realized, bitterly, that I had missed a new Adele album by only a few months. She had stopped halfway through the song, and I hit play without skipping back to the beginning.

_It's no secret that the both of us are running out of time. So hello from the other side. I must have called a thousand times._

I immediately hit _stop_ as the guilt overwhelmed me and I started to hyperventilate.

“Breathe,” Cole’s soft voice whispered in my ear as his arms suddenly wrapped around me. “Just breathe.”

He helped me off the stool to curl into a ball on the floor, and held me as I broke down in tears.

 

*

 

Of all the people in Skyhold to walk into my apartment that morning and discover me a weeping wreck on the floor, I would never have guessed it would be Alistair.

“Gwen!” he cried when his head cleared the top step and he saw me on the floor. “Gwen, are you hurt?”

I shook my head brokenly and gestured with Jacqueline’s phone. “It’s… it’s complicated.” I figured Cole had gone to let Alistair into the apartment and then disappeared.

The Warden grunted. “Woman crying alone? Complicated by default.” To my surprise, he lowered himself to the floor beside me. “All I’ve got on the books today is the avoidance of Morrigan, and that’s accomplished as well here as anywhere else. Let’s make this _un_ complicated, shall we?”

I sighed and turned Jacqueline’s phone back on.

“What’s this?”

“We call it a _cell phone_ ,” I told him, using the English words as there were no Common equivalents. “It started out as a means to communicate, and it gradually became much, much more. Where I come from, you can use one to talk to anyone else in the world who has one, instantaneously.”

“Like a phylactery,” Alistair said, and I froze.

“Like _Hawke’s_ phylactery that Merrill has,” I corrected slowly, and watched as a flash of guilt passed across Alistair’s face. “You have Solona’s phylactery. You can find her whenever you want. You can talk to her right now.”

Alistair blinked, and then shrugged. “What else can your _cell phone_ do?”

“Oh you’re so lucky I keep secrets. Leliana is going to eat your liver.”

He grinned a bit sheepishly but neither confirmed nor denied my accusation. I shook my head as I laughed at him. “Son of a _bitch_. Anyways. As the technology advanced, these became far more than just communication devices. They can create and store pictures, store and play music, and if connected to an appropriate network they had access to more or less all the information known to man. We called it the _information super highway_.“

“I know better than to insist you’re not serious,” Alistair said, although his tone clearly indicated his disbelief. “Is it safe to assume there is no such _appropriate network_ on Thedas?”

“Right. But everything that was stored on the phone is accessible, and so there is still a lot of information to sort through.”

“And there was some information there that left you a sobbing mess?”

I shot him a rather disgusted look, prompting the sheepish grin in response. “Yes.”

“And that information was?”

I flipped to one of the last photos in the album. “See this little nugget?”

“I’m not sure why you would call him a nugget, but I see a little boy, yes.”

“This is my nephew. This picture was taken within the last month.”

Alistair’s head whipped up, his eyes wide. “You’ve been here for-“

“Eight months, yes. Jacqueline – the woman from my world we found dead in Gaspard’s manse – knew my brother and my nephew. She was their babysitter. She had communications with my family, up until she came here. I believe that was why she was sent. She was meant to tell me about my family, to pass on some message.”

“Messages you never got, because she was slain.”

“Correct.”

“Woof,” Alistair sighed, leaning against the cold stone of the tower wall. “I call those tears justified.”

“Why _thank you_ , your highness, I appreciate the fair judgment.”

It was Alistair’s turn to scowl at me, and I laughed lightly, scrubbing the tears away from my eyes with the backs of my hands. “Don’t call me that.”

I shrugged. “Don’t shit on my tears.”

“Don’t-“ he tried to echo my words but burst out laughing. “That’s one way to put it. My apologies.”

We sat together amiably for a moment before he gestured to Jacqueline’s phone. “Anything on there the Inquisition could use?”

I shrugged. “Not particularly. It’s all information from my world, and you could get that from me.”

“You said it stores information. Did she store the information about why she was captured and killed on it?”

I blinked at him easily half a dozen times before I could make my brain recover from the shock of realization and _start working_ again. “Out of the mouths of babes,” I muttered as I went back to the main screen.

“Hey,” Alistair protested.

“Here,” I breathed. “There’s a voice memo, from the same day she tried to call me.”

“What does that mean?”

“Listen,” I said, and hit _play_.

We made it through thirty seconds of recording before Alistair surged to his feet. “We have to take that to Leliana.” He grabbed my hand as I hastily paused the memo and we raced to the war room.

 

*

 

I had Josephine assemble the other advisers and dragged Alistair into the war room behind me.

“Woah,” he said, looking around. “Nice set up.” He wandered over to the table and I watched as he idly traced a line across Ferelden, through Orlais, into Nevarra and then on into the Anderfels. I wasn’t sure if he was plotting out the route to Weisshaupt or the specific route Solona had taken, but I slapped his hand away. “Don’t let anyone see you doing that if you want to keep your secret.”

I startled him, and he blushed as he met my eyes. “You are too clever for your own good.”

I snorted. “Flatterer.”

“I thought that was my title,” Cullen said, announcing his entrance into the war room. “Should I put weight onto Dorian’s jest about _blond former templars_?”

As I floundered for an appropriate response – a funny denial of any interest that came short of lying because _that was definitely my type_ – Leliana burst into the room. “Josephine said it was an emergency?”

I nodded and produced Jacqueline’s phone, sliding it onto the table as first Josephine and Cassandra and finally Hellen strode into the war room. When the door was closed and I received nods of readiness all around, I hit _play_.

Jacqueline had recorded part of her interrogation.

Gaspard’s voice was clearly present, barking questions to the translator, Neria. Jacqueline’s voice was thin and reedy – from dehydration and exhaustion, likely, but she answered defiantly.

“Why did you come here?” Gaspard demanded, early on in the recording. Neria translated faithfully.

“Tell him I came looking for a woman. Her brother… her brother is alive and well, her _nephew_ is alive and well, her family survives. She is missed, but presumed dead, and her nephew will be raised on her memory. She needs to know.”

Neria told Gaspard, “She does not know why she was here. She does not understand what is happening, only that her world was destroyed and she was saved, sent here for a second chance.”

I hit _pause_ and glanced at Hellen, who was looking exceptionally pale.

“She lied,” Leliana breathed, staring at the phone in shock.

“She… what?” Josephine gasped.

“Jacqueline said… said she was sent here to tell me my brother is alive, and my nephew is well. She was to tell me of my family. She made no mention of our world being destroyed, I don’t know how Neria could have known anything she said. Neria _lied_.” I explained, amazed at how calm I managed to keep my voice.

“Why?” Josephine asked, a bit breathlessly. “Why would she lie?”

“Hatred of Gaspard?” Hellen hypothesized, spreading her hands in a show of confusion. “We may never know. Maker, we shouldn’t have let her leave.”

I leaned forward and hit _play_ once more.

“Bullshit,” Gaspard spat. “The others had a purpose, she must as well. What does she know of me? What does she intend?”

I reached out and hit _stop_ once more. “The _others_ ,” Alistair repeated. “That’s why we brought it to you. Does he include Gwen in _the others_ or did he find someone before he got his hands on Michael and Jacqueline?”

I was met with a sea of astonished faces. I leaned forward and hit _play_ once more.

Again, Neria translated faithfully what Gaspard had asked, although this time she added, “Do not speak the name of the woman you seek, I will not be able to cover for you then.”

“You’re… thank you. I know nothing of Gaspard, nothing of this world. I am here because I tried to kill myself and was stopped. I wasn’t chosen for knowledge of your world, but for knowledge of mine.”

I reached forward and paused the recording just long enough to translate before continuing the playback.

“She does not know of you, or of this world.” Neria told Gaspard. “She does not know why she was sent, but it was not because of any knowledge of our world. She is confused and lost. She is harmless, my lord.”

I hit stop again and we all stared at the phone in silence.

“She was trying to get Gaspard to let Jacqueline go,” Cassandra whispered, her voice catching. “Neria was trying to save her.”

I nodded, taking a steadying breath and hitting _play_ once more.

“Bollocks. She’s lying. We will break her. They’ve all had a _purpose_. The musician, the would-be protector, the assassin. They’ve all been sent to support _her_ and break _me_ and I won’t have it. To the Void with them, and to the Void with your Qun. I don’t know why you’ve allied with _Celene_ ,” he spat the name, “but you will not break this country, and you will not force the Inquisition to side with my cousin!”

The recording ended, and nobody moved.

“Two others,” Cullen announced evenly. “He found and killed two others before Michael.”

“So there are at least five of you,” Hellen agreed, slowly nodding.

“Six,” I amended. At the speculative looks I received – from everyone but Cullen – I shrugged. “I figured the rumor mill brought you that bit of news already. One of the Chargers is from my world. He confessed it to me in the infirmary yesterday and told his story to Bull.”

“What?” Leliana demanded, as Josephine leaned forward eagerly, “Who?”

“Twitch,” I answered immediately. “He was born William McIntire, and he left my world the same way I did, the same _day_ I did, although he arrived here the day after the Battle of Denerim, when the arch demon was slain. He took shelter in the Chantry in Denerim, pretending to be shocked mute, and once he learned the language and a bit about the culture he set out as a man-at-arms. He was tasked with finding me and making sure I was accepted and kept alive. To keep him from being captured and killed, he was sent back to a time before anyone knew to look.”

Leliana sank backwards to lean heavily against the wall. “How many more might be in our ranks? How much have I missed? You warned me… warned me there were spies for factions I wasn’t even _aware of_ , and I doubted you. Again. Why do I continue to doubt?”

“Spies?” Hellen asked sharply.

“Corypheus first,” I said, waving her question off. “They won’t be spies until Corypheus falls, and we won’t be able to find them until then, anyways. Don’t borrow trouble. Corypheus first. None of the rest of it will matter if we don’t take him out.”

Hellen set her jaw, but nodded. It was something we agreed upon time and again: Corypheus first, _then_ what comes after.

“So Gaspard believed that Gwen was Viddathari,” Josephine said idly, “and that the various transplants from her world were agents of the Qun come to interfere with the Orlesian civil war, and force the Inquisition to side with Celene.”

I realized I was staring at her a second after I noticed everyone else in the room was staring at her.

“That is… the most obvious explanation, yes,” Leliana breathed, the quickest on her feet.

Josie shrugged. “As the only person aside from Alistair and Cassandra who does not seem to speak Qunlat, I was more focused on Gaspard’s words than the rest of you.”

“No, Cullen doesn’t-“ Leliana started, and then met the Commander’s eyes with a gasp. “You _do_. When did you learn Qunlat?”

“I learned _English_ ,” he disagreed gently, “so that I might speak with the lady Gwen.”

The meeting dissolved into an estrogen-fueled mess as Leliana and Josephine became squealing idiots at the confession.

“Enough,” Cassandra barked, slapping a palm onto the table, although she was also grinning to beat the band. “We shall all tease the Commander _later_.”

“Indeed,” Hellen agreed with a sly smile. “Josephine, I believe your conclusion might be the correct one. Can we listen to the recording again? Were there any others?”

I immediately replayed the interrogation, and now that I was listening more closely to Gaspard than Neria, I could see the threads Josephine had woven together. There were not, however, any other voice recordings.

“Is it possible, then, that the _others_ he spoke of were actual Viddathari agents?” Hellen proposed.

Leliana rubbed her hands together as she thought. “That is possible, yes. It would be difficult to prove either way.”

“It might be in the remainder of the journals and various belongings of Michael Dupree that Celene had shipped. Did you find anything in the crate I left for you, lady Gwen?”

I scrunched up my nose in self-disgust. “No. I got caught up in all the Charger business yesterday and didn’t even crack the lid to find out what it was. There was another phone, though, that Cole found at Halamshiral. It’s on the solar panel now. It could very well be from one of those others Gaspard mentioned, but I have no way of knowing yet.”

“Alright,” Hellen said with a nod. “Gwen, your task is to dig through that crate and put together everything you can on Gaspard’s motives and the origins of the people he captured and killed. Try to determine if there’s any kind of Qunari plot to… destabilize… Orlais.” She tapered off as she caught my expression. I was doing my best to keep it clear but she knew me far too well. “Maker’s Burning Mistress, there’s a Qunari plot to destabilize Orlais.”

“Not until nine-forty-four,” I said as I preemptively flinched.

“WHAT?” Leliana roared, nearly upending the war table as she brought both fists crashing down on its surface.

“How many times,” Cullen’s voice cut through the exclamations of the rest of the group, “must Gwen insist that there is something else coming?” One by one the other advisors stilled and turned to listen. “How many times has she told us we have to get past the threat of Corypheus before we can begin to address the next conflict? She told you, Leliana, there were spies in the Inquisition. She has told you, Hellen, to focus on Corypheus. She has told me that the night Corypheus falls is the night we all meet here and she tells us everything, and we begin to plan for what comes after. Knowing what it is that we are preparing for _changes nothing_.”

The argument of the night before made Cullen’s calm support that much more precious. I reached across the table for his hand and he briefly caught my fingers in his own and squeezed them. He settled his hand back on the pommel of his sword as I crossed my arms across my chest and waited.

Leliana looked like she might be on the verge of a stroke, but she was ratcheting back her emotions and reestablishing self-control. Josephine was watching me with a sad sort of smile, and I noticed she was, for maybe the first time, not taking notes. Cassandra was matching my posture, and Alistair – oh, I’d forgotten Alistair – was leaning against the far wall with an utterly unreadable expression on his face. We definitely had his full attention, though.

Hellen sighed and reached up to run her hands down her horns. “You’re right. One problem at a time. Maker, but I understand why you kept that under wraps.” She took another steadying breath and leaned on the war table. “Gwen, your assignment stands. Go through that crate. Go through Jacqueline’s phone. Get whatever information out of them that you can… even if it’s nothing we can use just yet.”

She turned to Leliana. “You’ll be looking for a needle in a haystack, but if there is _anyone else in the world_ who might be from Gwen’s home, find them.”

“With all due respect, Hellen, I should be ferreting out spies from our ranks, regardless of what priority Gwen has placed on it.”

“They don’t exist yet,” I told her. Hellen and Leliana both cocked eyebrows at me. “The spies you most need to worry about haven’t been recruited yet. That’s like looking for Inquisition spies in the Kirkwall rebellion. Just put it aside.”

Leliana looked like she wanted to argue, and Hellen looked like she was going to start shouting, so I added in a parting shot. “And, besides, it might not even be your problem. You’re one of three contenders to be the next Divine, you might be in Val Royeaux and have three times as much to worry about.”

“I will not-“ Leliana started, but Hellen cut her off with a guffaw.

“You might!” the Inquisitor insisted. “Didn’t you _just say_ you should stop doubting Gwen?”

Leliana’s mouth flattened out and she fell silent. She nodded once – to Hellen – and the Inquisitor reiterated the Nightgale’s assignment.

“Josephine, you will spend the next day or so caught up with Morrigan, I am sure. Once she is settled, your task is figuring out who and what this _Fairbanks_ character is before I show up on his doorstep. I’m sure Leliana will have insight for you there. Cullen, keep working on tracking down Samson. I’m making a quick run with Cole to help him come to grips with whatever is keeping his amulet from working, and then Cassandra and I are going to go meet with the Seekers. I will stop here just briefly on my way back from Caer Oswin and proceed directly on to the Dales. I’ll get the Emerald Graves sorted so we have a foothold in the Emprise. The red lyrium streaming out of the Dales has to be stopped if we want to have any chance at stopping the red Templars.”

She moved pieces around the war table as she spoke, and at the end looked at each of us in turn. We gave some sign of our acceptance – a nod or a brief word – and then Hellen lightly pounded the table twice with her fist. “Adjourned. We’ll meet here later tonight with Morrigan once she’s arrived, to discern what, if anything, she has to offer.”

Cassandra moved to the door as Hellen spoke one last sentence. “And, Alistair? Keep your teeth together.”

“Oh, absolutely,” the warden gushed, a bit overdramatically. “You all know how _horrible_ Alistair is at keeping secrets.”

“Walk with me,” I said to him, gesturing for him to take my arm. Cullen’s eyebrows nearly brushed his hairline as I tucked my hand into Alistair’s elbow and had him escort me from the room. I waved Cullen off, trying to indicate _we’ll talk later_ , but Leliana descended upon him to discern his command of Qunlat and I made my escape.

“Trying to get me killed?” Alistair asked archly. “I could _feel_ Cullen’s eyes throwing daggers into my back.”

“No, I’m trying to do you a favor.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve got nearly as many secrets wrapped up in your head as I do,” I answered easily, “and those women possess far less respect for them than they do mine.”

He seemed to relax a fraction. “Does it count when you _know_ all my secrets?”

“I don’t know them _all_ ,” I argued lightly. “You know where someone is and what that someone is doing, and I have no fucking clue.”

“No?” he asked, brightening. “I figured you did.”

“I’ve told you I don’t.”

“Yes, well.”

“I wouldn’t lie,” I chided. “Especially not about that, and not to you. Which is why you should know that Morrigan is arriving here this evening with Kieran.”

“Kieran?” he breathed.

“Yes,” I tried to keep my voice gentle. “His name is Kieran.”

I could not remember Alistair ever being struck silent, but he was now.

“The conversation will go better than you fear,” I said, trying to guess what was on his mind. “And you should not refrain from seeking it out, if you wish. She may be interested in hearing about Fiona, since… certain gifts… seem to skip generations.”

Alistair grunted thoughtfully, but attempted no other answer.

“Also, I have information regarding a crate of Flames of Our Lady that was… liberated… from Halamshiral. Just in case you have need of a safe place to vent tonight.”

That startled a laugh out of him. “I’ve heard a story or two about you and that Lady.”

“I can’t let her beat me,” I insisted grandly, and his next laugh was more genuine.

“Thank you,” he said, as he deposited me at the door to the infirmary. I stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and he returned the gesture.

“You’re welcome,” I told him, and watched him walk away – towards the gate, to watch for Morrigan’s arrival – before slipping into the infirmary and getting back to work.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, too bad we'll _never hear from Neria again_ am I right?


	54. Pt III Ch 6: Very Specific Assholes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Important transitional vignettes: the piano arrives, Gwen's new routine post-Halamshiral, Cole and Cassandra return from their companion quests, and Gwen expands her field of study.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in the midst of a roadtrip that will span half a continent... I'm not sure what time zone I'm in, much less the time. I am not even certain of the name of the town this particular hotel-on-the-highway sits in.   
> However, I would rather post early than post late, so here's your regularly scheduled post. <3
> 
> In other news, I've been posting prompts - mostly from Hellen's Point of View - on Stand Your Ground, the second part of this series. I'll have a new one of Twitch & Gwen up tomorrow or Sunday.

I returned all the phones to the chest that night – the new one was charged but had a passcode and was displaying in French to boot. There were three children on the lock screen – an older girl, early teens, in what I could only think of as exceptionally modest swimwear, accompanied by a boy and girl a few years younger who could have been twins. Their features were obscured by the opaque display text, but they were darker in tone than I - perhaps Mediterranean? – and definitely related. I recognized none of it, and stashed it away with the hope that someday we’d figure out who it belonged to, that maybe I could return it to a living person and not simply remember it with regret.

The meeting that evening over the war table was almost not worth the time it took for me to walk down to it. Morrigan was too important to talk to anyone but Hellen and Leliana, and the latter only out of a mutual respect for their trials during the Blight. There didn’t seem to be any love lost between these two companions of Solona Amell.

Morrigan didn’t have anything to tell the advisors that I didn’t already know – she had an eluvian, she believed Corypheus would be able to enter the Fade via one, and getting his hands on one of these mirrors was likely his next target. She agreed to work with Leliana to try to narrow down the particular eluvian he was looking for, which I actually couldn’t help with. I knew, vaguely, where the Temple to Mythal was, but other than saying “the Arbor Wilds” I wouldn’t be much assistance, so I kept my mouth shut.

 _Much_ more entertaining was the piano being brought into Skyhold. There was a great deal of argument about where it would go. Leliana believed Vivienne’s loft would be an ideal location, while Josephine proposed the downstairs ballroom. After a thirty-second silent conversation with Cole that occurred mostly in my head with him nodding or shaking his head in response, I stepped in and made my suggestion.

Hellen, laughing, immediately agreed, and Michael Dupree’s grand piano was carted into the third floor of the Herald’s Rest.

“It was in Celene’s _dining room_ before,” I argued with Leliana as we oversaw the ponderous operation, Dagna and a team of dwarven engineers scampering around in a highly organized chaos. “Back home we’d call this a _piano bar_ , it will be perfect, trust me.”

“We’re not going to want to move it once it’s in there,” Leliana countered. “If we have _any_ kind of formal event in Skyhold it will be better served by being in the main hall.”

I shrugged. “There’s less opportunity for it to get wrecked in the ‘Rest. No random asshole is going to wander in there and pretend they know how to play.”

“Have you _been_ in the Herald’s Rest?” Leliana countered. “ _Random asshole_ is a perfect descriptor of their clientele!”

“They are very specific assholes!” I laughed. “There is no way that Cabot will let anyone hurt my piano. Or Cole, for that matter, he haunts the third floor. And above and beyond all of that, _the Chargers_ will defend this thing with their lives.”

“You think?” she murmured.

“Just you watch.”

“No way,” Twitch said as the layers of protective covering were stripped away and the gilded English letters on the front became visible. “I heard you were playing some unknown instrument but I didn’t know they found you a grand fucking piano.”

“A grand what?” Krem asked, strolling up.

Twitch pointed. “That thing’s worth, what, in our money? Twenty-five, thirty thousand dollars?”

I shrugged. “It isn’t perfect. The ivories are pitted, the materials are of…”

“Fuck you,” Twitch snorted. “I know fuck-all about pianos and I know that is worth _bank_. And the Empress of Orlais just sent it up here into the mountains on a whim?”

“We did save her life and solidify her reign,” I countered. “And I’m the only person on Thedas who knows how to play it.”

“Classically trained pianist,” Twitch said in English, taking on a mocking sort of falsetto. “Advisor to the Inquisitor. Florence Fucking Nightingale. Blah, blah, blaaaaah.”

I put my hand on his forearm to hold myself up as I laughed. Krem cocked an eyebrow at his fellow Charger and that just made me laugh harder.

“Man, screw _you_ ,” Twitch continued a moment later. “You should at least be ugly or something. Shit’s getting ridiculous.”

“I always was ugly,” I said once I’d sobered a bit. “It’s nice to be on this end of _Cinderella_  for once.”

Twitch rolled his eyes and Krem maintained a look of utter bafflement, and we stood shoulder-to-shoulder in silence as Dagna finished unloading my almost-Steinway.

“All set?” she asked, some time later.

“Looks good. I might have to have you and Leliana help me figure out how to tune it.”

“Great!” she actually perked up. She was so happy to begin with, having completed the challenge of moving the piano, that her becoming _more_ chipper hadn’t seemed possible. “I’d love to crack that baby open. Let me know if all the runes on the wrapping protected it from temperature and humidity changes like we hoped.”

I returned her wave goodbye and then dragged out the bench as she disappeared down the stairs. “Alright, come on,” I told the waiting Chargers. "I've gotta check this thing, make sure the move didn't wreck it."

Twitch practically darted over to sit on the bench beside me. Krem, not sure of exactly what was going on, moved much slower, but eventually I was sandwiched between the two of them.

With a sad smile at Twitch, I lifted the fall and played the intro to Augustana’s _Boston_. The tuning was a bit off, but I only noticed because it had been  _perfect_ before. It would probably never be as good as Michael had made it, but it was definitely good enough.

To my surprise, when we reached the beginning of the lyrics, Twitch beat me to the punch.

“In the light of the sun, is there anyone? Oh, it has begun. Oh my dear, you look so lost. Your eyes are red with tears unshed, this world you must have crossed. You said-”

“You don’t know me,” I chimed in, interrupting. “You don’t even care. You said you don’t me, and you don’t wear my chains.”

Twitch smiled at me, and we alternated through the song until the final verse we sang together:

“She said, I think I’ll go to Boston. I think I’ll start a new life. I think I’ll start it over, where no one knows my name. I’ll get out of California. I’m so tired of the weather. I think I’ll get a lover and fly him out to Spain. I think I’ll go to Boston. I think that I was tired. I think I need a new town, to leave this all behind. I think I need a sunrise. I’m tired of the sunset. I hear it’s nice in the summer. Some snow would be nice.”

I picked through the final bars as Twitch’s voice echoed gently through the rafters.

“Woah,” Krem breathed, reaching out to gently touch a key.

“Can you…” Twitch started, swallowed, and then fell silent. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was embarrassed.

“What do you want to play?” I asked, placing my hand over Krem’s and using his fingers to play a few notes. The Charger Lieutenant had a look of pure childlike wonder on his face as he was made to play a simple melody.

“Did you know, augh, nevermind.”

“William,” I said gently, resting a hand on his knee.

“Gary Jules, his name was-“

“Mad World?” I asked.

The fight went out of Twitch’s shoulders, and he nodded.

I had to think a moment, but the harder I thought the easier the melody came to mind. I had _just known_ Patrick was dead. I had _just known_ that Lyal was okay, that Cullen had survived the undead in Gaspard’s basement. And somehow I _just knew_ the key I needed to play in. They were starting to add up…

…and I was completely content to let them. I would have an answer some day, or I would not. In this moment, it was a gift I could use to help Twitch. He lifted his voice in a breathless rendition of the original that brought tears to my eyes.

“And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad; the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had. I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take when people run in circles. It’s a very, very mad world. Mad world.”

We all sat back and stared at the keys for a long time once we finished. Krem’s mind seemed blown.

“One more melancholy?” I asked. “Or do we want to move on to something happier?”

“One more,” Krem breathed.

Twitch grinned at him, then nodded his agreement to me. “Not always the right mood for it. Might as well run with it while we have it.”

With a smile, I tapped out the opening bars to “The Sound of Silence.” Twitch breathed out a happy sigh and then joined his voice to mine.

“How do you both know all of these songs?” Krem asked when we had finished.

I shrugged and looked at Twitch. “Some of them are just because we’re contemporaries,” he said. “We listened to music in the same locale in the same time period. The Sound of Silence is pretty much a classic, one of those things that everybody seems to know. And Mad World was… well.”

“In a video game commercial,” I laughed.

“Was it?” Twitch asked, laughing as he thought.

“Yeah, Gears of War.”

Twitch frowned as he thought and then burst out laughing. “You’re right!”

“It’s been longer for you,” I reminded him, and he nodded.

“I haven’t thought of any of this for ten years. It’s amazing how fast it comes back now that you’re drawing it out of me.”

“What did you play for the Orlesians?” Krem asked, and we were off again.

I don’t know how long we sat there, three peas in a pod, the men to either side of me watching my hands on the keys with rapt attention. Once I got to the video game music I’d played at the end of the night in Orlais, Twitch got to laughing so hard he fell backwards off the bench and nearly tumbled down the stairs. We turned to catch him, which was when we noticed the second floor had completely filled with people who wanted to listen but hadn’t wanted to interrupt or interfere. As Krem called down a friendly invitation, movement near the back of the room caught my eye.

Cullen was standing in the shadows of the third floor, leaning against the wall near the door to the battlements, watching me silently. I slipped away from the Chargers and crossed the room to him. He lifted his hands at the last minute and wrapped me in a hug as I laid my head on his shoulder.

“Is it alright that I am so jealous right now I could quite possibly burst into flame?” he asked softly.

I nodded, laughing. “There’s nothing really to be jealous of, though.”

“There’s something he knows about you that I don’t, something about those last songs that was _funny_ and no one knows but him. There is a whole world of literary references and religious iconography and… a whole world, Gwen. A million tiny details I can never possibly know, which wasn’t so bad when _nobody else did, either_.”

“I understand,” I breathed. He tightened his arms around me, and I knew without looking that he was grateful I didn’t try to argue.

“I know you’re… uncomfortable… with the Fade,” I said, and he went very still. “But if you want, I could start bringing you into my dreams. I could show you-“

“Yes,” he breathed, and I grinned so wide my jaw ached. “Maker knows I shouldn’t, but _yes._ ”

“You’ll have to come to bed at a more reasonable hour,” I chided, and he broke out of the hug with a laugh.

“Now that sleeping isn’t a brilliant form of torture, I should be able to manage that.”

I cupped a hand to his cheek and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. He reciprocated, the briefest of brushes of his lips on mine, and then he eased out of the door onto the battlements and was gone.

“Can it be our turn again?” Twitch called from the other side of the room, and I laughed as I turned to face my eager “children”.

“Absolutely,” I said, and made my way back to the piano amidst a smattering of cheers.

 

*

 

With the infirmary empty and Hellen away, I built a new routine starting the next morning.

I cracked open the crate and started carefully sifting through everything inside. It was not the work of a day, or even a week… in addition to Michael’s journals there was a leather messenger bag that made my fingers itch to tear through and a beat-up Thedosian rucksack that had been stitched shut and then the seams coated in a layer of wax to help deter prying eyes. There was so much _stuff_ lying ramshackle in the bottom that I decided it would take weeks to go through and catalog everything. I started on the journals, like I was supposed to, and was almost immediately rewarded for the effort: the first book was sheet music, painstakingly recreated by hand, line by line, drawn from Michael’s memory. Debussy, Mozart, Beethoven, Bach, Chopin, and a dozen others. I clutched it to my chest like it was a child, a foundling in the snow. I got nothing else accomplished in the time I had set aside to work on the crate that first day.

At lunch I would abandon the crate and meet with whoever in the Inquisition had requested my time that day. It was surprising, how quickly the time was claimed once I broadcast the idea. Blackwall found me to touch base on how we were both doing in our new lives, although it was never phrased as such. I introduced him to Alistair and encouraged him to join the Wardens in truth once everything was said and done, if only to help his conscience.

Dagna and I always had _something_ brewing, and if we happened to be between projects there was always Sera to pitch in.

Sera, alone, was another story altogether. If I saw her name scratched on the ledger I left in the infirmary with my schedule, I knew to wear something inconspicuous and easily cleaned.

Alistair claimed a significant amount of my time, as he met Kieran, introduced Morrigan to Fiona, and tried to come to grips with the decision he’d made ten years before to save the life of the woman he loved. He also let me see the Phylactery he wore, and didn’t even bother to remind me to keep the knowledge to myself.

Varric had left with Hellen to tend to Cole’s identity crisis, and so the Kirkwall crew was a bit more welcoming. I suspected, when the dwarf returned, that if things weren’t _as_ warm between us as they had been pre-Bianca-punch, we might be far enough past it to at least coexist a little more peacefully. In the meantime, Anders let me sit beside him as he read or worked on potioncraft (often at my work table, since it was the best stocked with the best lighting) so I could talk to Justice about the Fade. Solas was gone on Cole’s quest, and I was finding Justice to be a more intuitive teacher than my deceptive hah’ren. These interviews and lessons were often interrupted by Hawke becoming bored and coming to look for trouble.

That often ended the same way as Sera’s adventures. I did my best to keep them clear of each other, as together they were a force of nature. I worked to convince Hawke that he was on a vacation right now. “Just enjoy the quiet,” I pleaded, for Josephine’s sake.

The word that Morrigan had an eluvian – and the mirror being brought into the room near the garden Merrill haunted – had brought the Dalish blood mage and the Witch of the Wilds on a collision course. I expected snark from Morrigan and confused friendly overtures from Merrill, and I was dead wrong.

“Between the two of them, they’re going to have that whole system worked out in a month,” Hawke muttered one day as we watched the two black-haired beauties looking over a book in the flickering light of the eluvian, foreheads nearly touching as they compared notes and built on one another’s findings.

“Here’s hoping,” I answered. Hawke shot me an uncomfortable sort of look and I shrugged. “It’s rather important.”

The eluvian in Skyhold kept Morrigan and Merrill contained and released Josephine from her concerns surrounding the Orlesian attaché. Her name appeared in my ledger more than once, and it was always for a gentle chat and a cup of tea by her fire.

After dinner I was in the ‘Rest, every night, without fail. Between Jacqueline’s recovered phone and my own, Twitch and I had no end in sight to our musical endeavors. I took the sheet music I’d found to the piano and turned the third floor into a piano bar in truth, with Cabot hiring on a new barmaid and putting in a dumbwaiter to reduce the spillage of liquor on the stairs.

A conversation one night with Sera brought out the story of where Twitch had hidden his belongings in Denerim – a loose rock in a wall in an alley that Sera was immediately familiar with. It took a week or two, but one night I entered the ‘Rest to find Twitch cross-legged on the floor in Sera’s room with a beat-to-shit leather bag in his lap and a – somehow intact – cell phone cradled in his hands. I don’t know if it was the combined force of our wills or Divine Interference, but it took a charge and functioned as well as my own.

I was back in my apartment at a completely reasonable hour in the evenings, in my pajamas and sitting expectantly on the side of the bed for my standing date with Commander Cullen.

He came home at a different time every night, sometimes appearing more harried than others, but it was always early enough to spend a little time together before tumbling into bed.

More often than not, we went straight to sleep, and I found him quickly in the Fade.

He was used to not sleeping, and I didn’t keep him there all night every night, but we made it a point to visit _one_ of my memories every chance we got.

Over the course of Hellen’s trip to help Cole and Cassandra, Cullen got to meet my parents, my brother, my nephew, my best friends, my old college campus, and got an in-depth tour of every house I ever lived in, all through the power of my memories and the Fade. I took him to the Mumford concert I’d shown Solas, and dragged him by the hand through half the trails in Acadia National Park, one flickering recollection at a time. The night before the Inquisitor and her team came home, I sat us down in my old office in front of my computer, and in a moment too surreal for words, loaded up Dragon Age.

“That’s me,” Cullen breathed over my shoulder. “That’s… that’s _creepy_.”

I sat back in my office chair and laughed. “I’m kidnapping you in the Fade to show you my memory of the game I met your fictional doppelganger in. _Creepy_ isn’t a strong enough word.”

“But… that _looks_ like me. Mostly. I mean, it’s a close enough resemblance that I feel like it’s me.”

“Yup,” I said, taking his hand and letting the memory fade.

“But-“

“Sleep now,” I told him gently. “There’s always tomorrow.”

He protested – like he always did – but I gently willed him out of the Fade and back into his own sleep. His presence in the Fade became flickering and weak, and he immediately launched into a ridiculously raunchy dream about me, which, while appreciated, was a bit odd to watch. I closed my eyes in the Fade and let myself sleep.

I woke up before he managed to sneak out of bed the next morning, and we chatted while he readied to leave for the day.

“Cassandra’s going to be a snit,” I reminded him, and he nodded.

“I will seek to intercept her before she damages anything important,” he said, not for the first time.

“And Varric,” I added.

“Varric will be in a snit?” Cullen asked, pausing as he pulled on the furred pauldrons I had more than a little affection for.

I shook my head. “Intercept her before she damages anything important,  _and Varric_.”

Cullen snorted a laugh and finished dressing, stepping back to the bed to kiss me quickly before heading out to start his day on the training field.

“You could stay, you know,” I said archly, letting the shoulder of my pajamas slide down my arm.

He paused with his left hand on the door, and I could see the dozens of thoughts cross his mind. His right hand clenched compulsively and I grinned. He closed his eyes, took a long breath, and smiled. “Thank you for that. That image will stay with me all day.”

“I live only to serve,” I quipped, and with another breath of a laugh, he was gone.

Dorian arrived half an hour later and we bathed as we did every morning, excited for Hellen’s return. He expected to go with her to the Dales, and we spent our morning conversation on his expectations for the trip, as Bull was slated to go along as well.

I was dressed and picking up the room, mentally preparing myself for the day’s delve into the crate – I was working through the journal now that was a detailed recounting of the building of the piano, and it was _slow going_ – when the door popped open and Cole walked through.

He _visibly opened the door and walked through_. It was definitely a new development.

I stopped in my tracks and stared for a long time before I regained the self-awareness for manners.

“Welcome home, love,” I said, and put my arms out to him for a hug.

“You already know,” he guessed.

I nodded.

“I feel different.”

I nodded again.

“I don’t…” he started, quickly falling silent with a frown. “I didn’t think I would feel so different.”

I let my arms drop as he made no move to cross the room. “Can you still hear?”

He cocked his head. “I… can? It is hard. Everything is… faint.”

I closed my eyes and focused on _him_ , and clarified my thoughts down to one line:

“I will always love you no matter what.”

I opened my eyes in time to get my arms up in time to return the hug he had been hesitant to claim a moment before.

“Wisdom… said you were a Mother? Said you were… all of our Mother. Does that… can that… is that still something…”

“I would happily call you my son, Cole,” I said, settling my cheek against his shoulder. He was _so much taller_ than me, it was a little ridiculous.

“Will they be able to summon me? Bind me? Make me hurt you?”

I shook my head. “Even if something somehow went terribly wrong, Cole, there is no one in this world who could beat me in a match of wills and would want to hurt you. I saved Wisdom from being bound, and I would save you, too. But know: you’re human enough now they can’t bind you.”

The air seeped out of him slowly, taking with it the tension he had seemed to carry in his narrow shoulders since Adamant. He settled into the hug and lifted me lightly off my feet.

“Thanks, ma,” he said in a deadpan-perfect copy of Krem.

I tipped my head back and laughed. “You’re very welcome, love.”

“Help me?”

“Always.”

Cole spent the morning helping me, however, as I decided I didn’t have the constitution for the journal about piano-crafting and instead worked open the strap on the messenger bag. Cole carefully checked every inch of the bag for signs of tampering – he was a rogue, after all – and handed me everything he found inside.

Buried at the bottom, in a leather wallet-style case, was Michael Dupree’s cell phone.

“Another,” he said, handing it to me.

We both saw the light tremor in my hand as I reached up to take it, and Cole cupped my hand in both of his after laying the phone in my palm. “Can’t hear you as well,” he reminded me gently.

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Are you… afraid?” he asked, frowning. He wanted so badly to understand, it was heartbreaking.

“I’m… I don’t know. Nervous? Anxious? Worried? Reticent? I’m excited to find another phone, but it’s a scared sort of excited, like just before you jump from a height.”

Cole nodded. “It’s harder, not being able to hear.”

I bit my lip and nodded my agreement. “Much.”

“What can I… hrm.” He bit his lip, in what I recognized as a conscious mimicry of my own thoughtful nervous tick. “What would you do? You would… you would give you a hug, and tell you a joke, and make your spirit lighter so that the jump didn’t seem so far.”

I grinned in spite of myself. “That’s what you think I would do?”

Cole nodded, still deadly serious, and _skooched_ across the floor to tug me into his arms for a hug. His eyebrows drew together as he worked through the next step in the process he’d outlined for himself.

“There was… a goose. And a broom. And a pot of honey? A mage in the library was telling the story…”

I burst out laughing and drew him back into another hug.

“I did it?” he asked, blinking owlishly.

I nodded. “Yes. Good job, love.”

The smile that broke across his face was so proud I had to swallow back a sudden lump in my throat. “Good. Now. We… we… charge this, right?”

I nodded. “Can you get the charger out of the chest for me? I’ll set it up on the work table upstairs.”

With a little bounce in his step, Cole did as I bid him. I shook my head and went back to work on the messenger bag, inordinately proud of the person Cole was trying to become.

 

*

 

Cassandra was in a snit.

“We can… _cure_ … Tranquility,” she told us as she paced the war room. "We have  _always_ been able to cure Tranquility."

I put my teeth together and tried to remain hidden.

It was too much to hope for.

“Gwen?” Leliana prompted. Cassandra froze in her tracks.

“The reason it works in Seekers is the mental preparation,” I informed the council. “Mages who get the brand don’t get the mental preparation ready them for Tranquility; it’s too traumatic. The mages who have been “cured” of Tranquility have all gone insane. Some of them disastrously so, as _Leliana_ could tell you.”

All eyes in the room swung around to the Spymaster.

“I beg your pardon?” Leliana laughed in disbelief.

“The last thing Shayle and Wynne investigated together,” I prompted her, and she went pale.

She wiped a weary hand across her eyebrows. “Maker.”

“Story time?” Hellen asked. I shrugged and gave her the summary of the events leading up to the death of Lord Seeker Lambert and the loss of Wynne. I glossed over Cole’s inclusion; the kid had too much on his plate already.

The room was silent when I finished. “Why didn’t you _tell me_?” Cassandra demanded.

“Would you have believed if you hadn’t seen Lucius for yourself?”

She looked briefly like she had been slapped; Cassandra and I had never talked about her opinion of my divinity, but she had adopted the referring to me as _Herald_ faster than anyone else. She was offended by the suggestion that she wouldn’t believe me. Cassandra had grown, however, in the time since she imprisoned and interrogated Varric – and Hellen – and took a moment to reflect before she responded. “I would… have wanted to see him for myself, regardless of what you said. So, no, I suppose it makes no difference, in the end.”

“I am sorry you were dealt this shock,” I replied, as softly as I could manage. “I do not believe my telling you about it beforehand would have softened the blow.”

“No,” Cassandra granted, eyes closing briefly against the memory. “Nothing could have softened that blow.”

“You can fix this,” I assured her, and she met my eyes with a smile.

“Thank you, my friend.”

“Gwen,” Hellen barked. “New task. Help Cassandra – and Anders, we have to tell Anders about this – look into Tranquility. Maybe your aura can help ease Tranquil mages back into their Fade connections.”

I froze at the thought. “I… I never thought of that. I don’t think I’ve stood next to a Tranquil the entire time I’ve been here.”

Hellen shuddered. “We would all sleep better if we thought there was a way to bring someone back from Tranquility.” She shook her head and then it was back to business as usual. “Leaving for the Dales in the morning. Reports of high dragons _everywhere_ in the Emprise and the Emerald Graves, so I’m taking Bull and Dorian with me. Cassandra requested to stay here, and no matter how badly I would rather have a Pentaghast with me to fight dragons-“ she and the Seeker exchanged shy smiles "-I’m taking Blackwall for the extra protection. Gwen, permission to bring Cole as well?”

I blinked. “You don’t need my permission-“

“Is he stable?” she asked, more bluntly.

I felt my mouth twist to the side in a smirk. “He is. I’m formally adopting him once this mess is over with, so you be careful with that fragile blond skull of his.”

Hellen grinned at me and continued running down the tasks she had set for the advisors, and called the meeting to an end. I got a hug and a tousle of my hair and then she was gone – to see Dagna, to see Dennet, and to get as much time with Josephine before she was on the road again the next morning.

Cullen had narrowed down the location of Samson and was poised to join Hellen in the Emprise once the route was cleared, but that was weeks away yet. I was surprised, then, when he snagged my arm and drew me down a side hallway and then out onto the battlements, winding our way around the keep.

“Adopting Cole?” Cullen asked, smiling. “Is this something I’m to be included in?”

“Oh?” I laughed. “Are you reconsidering fatherhood?”

“I’m protesting you adding on to your family without including me,” he said without malice, and drew me into his arms. “I’m glad he has you.”

“I’m glad I have _you_ ,” I countered. “Have the afternoon off?”

“With how quickly Hellen cleared us out of the war room, I do.”

“We could pay a visit to your old room,” I suggested. “You know, since nobody thinks to look for you there anymore.”

Cullen’s answering smile was like the sun coming up. “I love the way you think.”

 

*

 

I met with Solas the next afternoon, having seen Anders only long enough to give him the news from Cassandra and encourage him to read the book the Seeker had recovered. Call it cowardice, but I didn’t want to be anywhere near Anders for that set of revelations. Cassandra could take him.

“Hello, lethallan,” he greeted me. “I was made aware of your continued study in my absence.”

“Welcome home, lethallin,” I replied, and was warmed by his answering smile. “As solid of a teacher as I found in Justice, there is only so much a spirit can explain. The mechanics are all different.”

“Have you come to me for a lesson?” he asked, seeming surprised. “When you could instead have an actual spirit for a teacher?”

I perched on the edge of his couch and grinned at him. “No one knows the Veil better than you, Solas. I would be a fool to look elsewhere when this option exists.”

“Very well,” he conceded with as close to a grin as I’ve ever seen on him. “What would you like to explore today?”

I shifted my consciousness, as Justice had encouraged me to consider it, so that I was straddling the Veil. Solas’ countenance became that of a glowing golden god, and I felt the point driven home, again, of how different he was from everyone else I had ever known. “Will,” I answered, watching the smile slide off his face. “I need to know my limits. You were the first to insist I had a willpower unlike most others in Thedas. I need to understand what that means.”

His mouth thinned to a faint line as he watched my eyes, but he stayed silent.

“Does this bother you?” I asked after a long moment.

“I am unsuited to jealousy, lethallan,” he answered softly.

I flinched, suddenly understanding. “This is what-“

He glanced upward and lowered his voice as he moved to sit beside me on the couch and cast a zone of silence around us. “It used to be, yes.”

It was the first time I had seen magic being cast while straddling the Veil, and it took my breath away. For a moment Solas glowed incandescent, and his hands filled with swirling green light, which then flared out around us. I could _feel_ the energy as it passed through me, enclosing me in the spell.

“Woah,” I breathed, and he exhaled the barest of laughs.

“I can only remember what that looks like,” he said sadly. I reached out and took his hand. He let me twine our fingers together.

“Is there any way I can share?”

He shook his head. “This ability is yours alone, and arguably impossible. What once was the province of every living soul has been removed from everyone but you.”

I nodded, squeezing his hand briefly before letting him draw away.

“So,” he continued with a businesslike sort of sigh, letting the zone of silence drop. “Will.” He drew his feet up onto the couch and turned so his back was to me. I mirrored the movement and leaned against him, so we were each other’s backrests. I shifted my consciousness again so I was fully in the Fade, and met Solas as he slipped into the light meditation that he used to put himself past the Veil.

Time was easier for me to judge, now that I could slip back and forth between waking and dreaming, but still we let hours go by as Solas helped me test the limits of my willpower in the Fade. The only conclusion we reached was that it was nebulous – without actually Fade-Stepping across country we couldn't test for limits there, but I knew I could pull people into my aura from some distance, since I'd done it to Cullen from the Exalted Plains. Simple manipulation of the Raw Fade was more easily judged, but there's no way to measure distances in the Fade. I actually went looking for demons, to see if there was any limit there, but they seemed to stay clear of me in the Fade.

“Not a one, really?” I asked, after scouring the area around us.

Solas laughed. “After the display in the ballroom a few weeks past, I would be surprised if anything short of a Nightmare risked approaching your territory. You utterly control the area of the Fade you inhabit, lethallan.”

“Huh,” I grunted thoughtfully. “Good.”

With a laugh, Solas woke up. After a moment I joined him.

“You are becoming truly proficient at traversing the Fade, lethallan,” he told me as I gathered myself to leave. “It has been an honor and a privilege to walk beside you.”

“No matter what, Solas,” I told him softly, mindful of the missing zone of silence, “I will always desire to walk beside you in the Fade. My dreams are never closed to you.”

“Thank you,” he answered, and I left without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The crate! I'm going to have a chapter on the second part of this series that is nothing but things Gwen finds in the crate, and the associated links. You can ask to have something put in the crate that never has a corresponding story written. Or, if you want, you can send me the details and when I have a slow day I might write up a one-shot about someone coming to this version of Thedas, like a prompt request! As always, if you don't want to leave it in a comment here, you can tweet it to me @ themarydragon or use my gmail.com address which is also themarydragon.


	55. Pt III Ch 7: War and Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders furthers our knowledge of Gwen and the Fade, while the HMS Gwellen sails into some stormy waters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...in case you were wondering what Gwen was plotting for the Arbor Wilds, here's a big hint.

I learned nothing from Michael’s cell phone the next day, other than that he kept _nothing_ on his phone. No music, no apps, no games… the damn thing was probably for business only, and had the sort of mind-numbing emails that normally get deleted immediately after being read. He only had three in his inbox, so it seemed he just hadn’t cleared it before turning it off and dropping it, forgotten, into his bag. I turned it off and stored it carefully in my chest, wrapped in one of my old socks for safekeeping. Eventually I would give it to Dagna to take apart, but she had a long time before she would get to a place where she could learn anything from its design.

That afternoon I bit the bullet and met with Anders.

I didn’t get a single word out before he took me firmly by the arm and led me to the library.

“Minaeve told us to stay away from Helisma,” he told me on the stairs up from the main hall. “But there are several other Tranquil she brought with her when she escaped the Circle, and one of them… Rheyna, her name. She’s agreed to sit with you.”

“Does she know-“

“Yes,” Anders gritted. “Everyone _bloody_ knows.”

I swallowed. “Are you mad at me for-“

“For keeping _this_ to yourself? Yes. Yes, I am.”

“They go crazy, Anders,” I breathed, and he slowed to a stop at the door to the library. “Are you listening to me? The stress of the reconnection is too much and they _go crazy_. I don’t want to be responsible for destroying what life they might have left. Is it a shadow of what they were? Yes. Yes, it’s terrible and I _agree with you_. But Anders, please, don’t make me live with the knowledge that I hurt a Tranquil.”

It took the wind out of his sails. “I didn’t… yes. Yes, of course, you’re right. They aren’t animals to be experimented on.”

“They are literally defenseless,” I breathed. “Do not make me hurt any of them, I cannot stand it.”

“Rheyna volunteered,” he countered wearily. “I sat down with Minaeve and she brought together all the Tranquil researchers in Skyhold and Rheyna stood right up and volunteered. It seems she’s been researching Tranquility anyways, a twisted assignment from the asshole who was responsible for her in Kirkwall.”

“Kirkwall?” I breathed. “Did you know her before-“

“Yes,” he gritted.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, laying a hand to his shoulder. He shuddered at the contact but reached up to cover my hand with his own.

“Why don’t I… get Rheyna and meet you downstairs, in the other library.”

I nodded. “Absolutely.”

I turned on my heel and _fled_.

It took Anders ten minutes to bring the Tranquil Rheyna to the formerly dusty library in the Skyhold basement. Dorian had found it, it seemed, and turned it into his own personal hideaway. I could see symbolic pieces of Dorian laying around everywhere… a bottle of the wine he preferred, the cushion in the chair, the scuffs on the armrest from the way he always sprawled sideways, the bits of mostly-solidified air that he used to mark things he wanted to read later and serve as a safer bookmark in his works-in-progress. I shifted my consciousness to what I was considering Fade-Sight in my mind and could see the slightly reddened orbs hanging in the air in front of various shelves, marking specific tomes that interested him.

It was like being hugged by Dorian from a hundred miles away.

I was seated in Dorian’s chair, sideways like Dorian would, when Anders and the Tranquil found me. She had thick black hair, tied back from her face in a utilitarian sort of knot. She wore a featureless apron over an unadorned dress, all of stout linen and wool. There was no life in her brown eyes; she might have been pretty if not for the lack of soul and sunburst brand on her forehead.

“Rheyna, this is Gwen,” Anders introduced us politely. “Gwen, this is Rheyna.”

She and I both inclined our heads; to say it was a pleasure to meet would be a lie for us both. I felt no pleasure in meeting a Tranquil, and she felt no pleasure in general.

“I am afraid I may cause you suffering,” I told her immediately, conscious of the table and 10 paces of empty floor between us.

“It is very considerate of you to entertain that possibility,” Rheyna replied in a monotone voice that drove up the hairs on the back of my neck. “But if I might learn something of use to mages as a whole and Tranquil in particular, my own discomfort is not a deciding factor.”

I opened my mouth to argue and Anders silenced me with a stern look and a pointed finger.

“For now we’re just going to have you two walk towards each other,” he advised, gesturing for me to stand. Rheyna took two steps into the room and then waited for me to come around the table.

I shifted consciousness as I moved, straddling the Fade so I could get a better idea of what was happening to Rheyna.

My first hint was the widening of her eyes when the edge of my aura brushed across her face. She took a deep breath, as if she was stepping outside for the first time after a long winter to find the air sweetened by spring. I could see a flicker across her form, and I knew the energy I latently channeled was enough to reconnect her to the Fade.

“Maker,” she breathed, in a completely different voice. The light seemed to turn on in her eyes, and for a second, the briefest of moments, her figure glowed a soft white in the Fade. She staggered backwards in shock, out of contact with my aura, and her face went blank once more. It was like the light was turned off as quickly as it turned on…

…and it was my hand on the switch.

The guilt I’d felt a few weeks before with Cullen had _nothing_ on this. I fought to keep it off my face.

“Yes,” she said, once again monotone. “Yes, initial results indicate a reconnection with the Fade may be possible.”

Rheyna turned to Anders and requested permission to report her findings to researcher Minaeve, and Anders kindly granted her leave. As the door swung shut behind her, I could not keep up the façade of calm and collapsed to the floor.

Anders managed to catch me before I hit, and twisted me around so I was sprawled across his knees. He wrapped his arms around me and whispered soothing if unintelligible words as I wallowed in guilt.

"Maker, Anders, how can you... how can you  _stand_ it? The light went out in her eyes and it was  _my fault_. Mine."

“Gwen, it was _not_ your fault.” Anders argued. "You did not make her Tranquil. You did not ask her for this trial, that was her and I."

“I could have... I could have stepped forward, could have brought her back in, could have...”

"Gwen, no. She stepped away. She has that choice. We will try again another time, maybe a longer attempt to see how much she-"

“You can’t ask me to have a Tranquil stand in my aura, follow me around until we get a spirit to reopen the connection. I wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t be able to bathe… I wouldn’t want to step away from them for more than a moment, I couldn’t bear to see that _nothing_ on someone’s face, not after spending day and night with them, _Anders please_.”

“You’re right,” he soothed. “You’re right, I cannot ask this of you. But Gwen… you could do it. You could cure Tranquility. You could be the slow transition back to feeling that would hold off insanity.”

I shook my head roughly. “You cannot ask this of me, Anders, this is too much. It is _too much_.”

“We’ll find another way,” he agreed. “You and me, we’ll figure this out. We’ll find a way, Gwen, and nobody will ever have to fear Tranquility again. It will be removed as a threat when it’s reversible. Even if the new Divine re-institutes the Circles, it will never be as bad as it once was.”

I nodded, still feeling utterly _broken_ by the difference in Rheyna’s voice. Eventually Anders got me walking, and escorted me, sniffling and stumbling in shock, back to my tower apartment. He helped me into my pajamas and put me to bed. The rogue healer sat on the edge of my mattress and brushed the hair out of my eyes.

“I did not realize how strongly this would affect you.”

“It’s not… it’s nothing I have ever seen before,” I told him, fighting for an explanation. “There’s no way to… to… _dehumanize_ someone like that in my world. I suppose a lobotomy, maybe, but those are rare and usually accidental. It’s not… it’s not _right_. It’s wrong, wrong on every level, and I can’t… I can’t torture someone at the bottom of a well by giving them a glimpse of light, and I can’t live knowing I took someone out of a stable situation and drove them insane. There’s no good option here, and it’s… it’s _heartbreaking_.”

“I understand,” he said softly. “I grew up in the Circle, grew up around Tranquil, but I can still tell you exactly where I was the first time someone I knew, someone I was close to, was called up to the Harrowing chamber and never _really_ came back. That was likely not as traumatic as what you just saw, and I apologize. I do. I get caught up sometimes and I-“

“No, please don’t,” I interrupted. “You’re trying to right a wrong and I’m… I’m just not strong enough to help you. Not like this.”

“We’ll find another way,” he said again, and this time I nodded.

He pressed a hand against my head and said something unintelligible. I felt the slight surge of his magic and then I was asleep.

 

*

 

I slept straight through until nearly noon the next day. I had a note from Cullen on the pillow beside me asking me to please send word to him when I woke up, as he had been unable to rouse me. Cole had been there to reassure him, but apparently Cullen had been told I couldn’t be subjected to any mind-affecting magic, which arguably included _sleep_. I seemed to vaguely remember Solas saying something about it the night… the night I’d gotten my memories back.

I sat up weakly and rubbed my head. I’d still been straddling the Fade when Anders had knocked me out, and the transition back to wakefulness had been particularly discomfiting.

“Fucking Anders,” I muttered aloud as I stumbled out of bed and made my way upstairs to bathe. I was groggy all the way through my morning routine, and wandered over to Cullen’s office rather than trying to simply send word.

“Gwen!” he called, surprise and relief in his voice, when I pushed open the door. He had two or three Lieutenants with him – I really ought to learn their names – and they cleared out with smiles and sideways glances as Cullen came around his desk with alacrity. “How long have you been awake? Are you alright?”

“An hour or two, tops. Long enough to fumble through a bath and stagger down here.”

“What happened?”

“I…” I sighed, remembering why Anders thought it necessary to put me to sleep. “I had an uncomfortable sort of thing happen with one of the Tranquil, Rheyna, yesterday. Anders decided I needed sleep, and he must have… ugh. He must have had Justice thump me from the Fade in order to make it work.”

Cullen relaxed visibly, which wasn’t the reaction I expected. “So nothing’s changed? You’re not… you’re still not possessable.”

“Not by demons,” I answered with a smirk. Cullen returned my smile with an adorable sort of blush I hadn’t seen for a few weeks. “No. Anders just figured out a way around it. Probably only Anders could do it, too, the prick. And even then, it’s only because I trust him and Justice implicitly.”

Cullen seemed almost calm, then, and took me by the hand and led me over to the chair across from his desk, pressing me into it before digging a blanket out of a chest in a corner, draping it over my lap, and then getting back to work. “I’m glad you’re alright. You should stay awhile, we’ll go down to lunch together, and then you can get back to whatever your afternoon routine was to be.”

I snuggled into the blanket and settled down to watch Cullen operate the well-oiled machine that was the Inquisition army. He had a runner come through every ten minutes, precisely, to either pick up or drop off, so nothing he completed sat idle for long. There was a rotational sort of system with the paperwork coming in and leaving his desk, and in the time I spent watching him I almost figured out the particulars of which sort of document went where and what got prioritized. But mostly I watched Cullen’s face as he prepared his forces for a march on the Arbor Wilds.

Morrigan and Merrill had a pretty good idea of where the Temple to Mythal was – even if they didn’t yet know exactly what is was – and it was only a matter of finding a way to neutralize Samson and establishing secured supply lines before the Inquisition would be on the move. I was preparing for a fight with the rest of the advisors at that point, but for now it was just Cullen, a quickly moving train of paperwork and a look of intensity on his face that I was increasingly wanting to divert.

He would glance up from time to time, an apology ready on his lips if he were to find me bored or annoyed, and always his expression shifted to a knowing sort of smile. He would meet my gaze for a moment and then turn his attention back to his work. The fifth or sixth time a noticeable flush developed along his collar and his smile became a bit strained.

“Maker, this was a terrible idea,” he laughed as the bell struck midday and he pushed his work aside to stand.

“Oh?” I asked archly. “Whyever would you think that?”

“Because I am beginning to believe I know you well enough to guess what was behind that smile,” he said as he came around the desktop to lift me gently out of the chair. “And it was bringing to mind things I would _much_ rather be doing than balancing ledgers and monitoring troop rosters.”

I draped my arms across his shoulders and stretched up to brush his lips once, twice, before his arms came around me and I was lifted off my feet. I clung to his shoulders as he kissed me far more seriously than I had kissed him. His hands migrated to my hips and he lifted me higher, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, quickly losing all illusions of decorum.

The latch clicked on one of the doors – not the eastern door, facing the main hall, but one of the two leading onto the battlements – and Cullen lifted one hand to point at the intruder. “Out,” he said, only pulling his mouth from mine long enough to voice the syllable. There was a muffled sort of apology and then the door quickly closed.

“You’re going to miss lunch,” I informed the Commander as he made his way to the offending door and leaned me against it while he threw the bolt to lock it.

“It certainly seems that way,” he answered, staggering off towards the other two doors.

 

*

 

It was four more days, spent with either Anders or Solas, before the raven arrived with the information Cullen had been waiting for. In Hellen’s absence, I was asked to chair the council meeting in the war room.

“We have him,” Cullen said, slapping the message onto the table. “Samson is holed up in what they’re calling a Shrine to Dumat, near the border with Nevarra.”

“And you believe you should move on him?” Josephine surmised.

“Tell Hellen,” I answered him. “Have her meet you there. Wait until you have confirmation from Hellen before you leave.”

For a heartbeat, his face was lit up like a child’s at Christmas. “You’re not-“ he stumbled over the words, “you’ve seen-“

“Yes, Cullen, I’ve seen you go. Much like Cassandra in Caer Oswin, this is something you have to do for yourself.”

There was silence around the table then, and I realized they were all reevaluating the benefits of having me in the war room. There was far less arguing, for one.

“A few things you should know,” I told him. “Samson will likely escape, so do not do anything brash.” The scowl that replaced his temporary joy almost made me laugh. _Almost_. “Second, Maddox is with him. He will do what he can to cover Samson’s escape, and then poison himself with what was blightcap essence in the story I was told. I worked with Vivienne and we have an antidote for you to take with you. Saving Maddox would be the better reason to rush than the capture of Samson.”

The idea of Maddox dying to protect Samson took the wind right out of Cullen’s sails.

“While we’re here, and before Cullen takes off to destroy a cubic mile of red lyrium, I want to have a brief discussion about what comes after.”

“After…?” Cullen asked, going very still.

“After you return from the Shrine of Dumat,” I corrected myself. “Merrill and Morrigan have narrowed down the portion of the Arbor Wilds where Corypheus is concentrating his activities. The Inquisition will march to deny him access to… what he seeks.”

Leliana could not have been more on edge at that almost-admission. I did not give her the opportunity to divert me.

“I do not want to argue over this, and we will not. Hellen will take her team into the ruins of a Temple and I am going with her.”

“Herald, surely-“ Josie started, as Leliana said “I do not believe-” and Cassandra snorted, “Surely you don’t think-“

But Cullen silenced them all with both fists on the table and a near-shout, “Over my dead body.”

I gave him a single slow blink and watched the other three women in the room each take a subtle step back.

“Hellen’s team is her own to decide,” I continued, pointedly ignoring Cullen’s slowly shaking his head while scowling at me. “However, I am confident she will _not_ opt to take Serah Hawke, Merrill, or Anders. The four of us can make our own way to the Temple and avoid the fighting. Once inside, it is possible to avoid conflict entirely until we reach the target itself. At that point, it is _absolutely critical_ that I be present. Something happens in that Temple that has a profound effect on the future of the world, and there is no way I can protect Hellen from it without actually physically being there.”

Josephine bit her lip and took another step back. She would not argue my desire to protect Hellen. I couldn’t tell her that I would rather die than let Hellen drink from that fucking Well, but she seemed to get the gist.

Cassandra and Leliana were still clearly uncomfortable but were only backing down from my clash with Cullen, and not from my stance on the Arbor Wilds.

“No,” Cullen said, simply.

“I appreciate your concern,” I began, but he cut me off with a repeated – if more forceful – “No.”

“I will Fade-Step there on my own, with Wisdom to guide me, if I am left behind,” I asserted and the Commander’s face went white. I didn’t know if it was fear or rage, but a little spasm rippled across both fists and I knew I’d touched one hell of a nerve. “We can either plan for me to be there, and arrange for me to have protection aside from Hellen’s team, or I can show up on my own, but one way or the other, _I will be in that fucking Temple_.”

I probably should not have cursed. The word was out of my mouth and unretractable, and it did nothing to help Cullen’s mood.

“As I said a moment ago, we will not argue over this. I am merely giving you the proper notice so things can be appropriately arranged. I am not to be left in a position of authority in Skyhold because I will not be here. My needs on the road will be minimal, but if that is too trying to arrange, I will Fade-Step there and no extra provisions will be required. Now. Are there any _questions_ in regards to this, or shall we consider the matter tabled until the time has come to actually march?”

“May we discuss this elsewhere, _Herald_?” Cullen gritted.

“By all means,” I agreed with a slight incline of my head.

“Thank you,” he managed through clenched teeth, and left the war room, door slamming in his wake.

We were silent for a moment before Cassandra burst out laughing. Leliana and I turned to stare at her in amazement.

“I have _never_ seen him so angry,” she chortled. “Maker, I might not have _ever_ seen _anyone_ so angry.”

“Lady Cassandra, I do not believe-“ Josephine started, but Leliana had caught the Seeker’s mood and interrupted the Ambassador.

“Should you require someplace else to sleep tonight, my lady Herald,” she said with _far_ too much amusement in her voice, “I am quite sure Cassandra or I could find you some safe accommodations.”

“Oh, Gwen, I do not envy you the next few hours,” Cassandra sighed, leaning against the war table as she shook with a residual chuckle. “Just remember his anger is rooted in fear. He is desperate to keep you safe. It is duty and obligation to him as much as it is love. I’m sure Hellen will respond in much the same way.”

“Hellen will be on the ground and available to keep Gwen safe,” Josephine chimed in, finally getting a sentence in edgewise. “Cullen will be left not knowing how fares his lady love. And that, perhaps more than anything, has pushed him into a rage.”

I twisted my mouth into a caricature of a frown and placed both my hands onto the map table, leaning over to lift my feet off the floor and stretch my back. “ _Do_ any of you have anything to add?”

Josephine shook her head. Leliana quirked an eyebrow but remained silent. Cassandra grunted – but it sounded amused rather than disgusted.

“I do not understand why you believe you must be physically present in a ruined Temple in the midst of a pitched battle, but since you have a view of the future and I do not, I must trust that there is something dire you cannot risk verbalizing. I do not agree with your insistence, but I accept that it is not my choice, nor do I likely possess the information necessary to _make_ that choice. I would say, however, that should Hellen forbid you from coming, you do not disregard her wishes as you did at the crossroads as we returned home from Halamshiral.”

I nodded as I set my feet back on the floor. “A fair point; thank you lady Cassandra.”

“You are most welcome, lady Gwen,” she said, and the amusement was back in her tone. “Don’t you have a lover’s quarrel to lose?”

“Lose?” I laughed, and then headed towards the door with a sigh. “What makes you think I’m going to lose?”

“ _Always_ lose,” Leliana advised as I tugged open the door. “It is much more fun that way.”

Cassandra made a sound that was a cross between a giggle and a snort, and the three of them burst into laughter that was only audible for a moment before the door swung shut behind me. I sighed again, fondly, and then headed off to war.

 

*

 

Cullen was waiting for me in our apartment. He had gone from triumphant from having found Samson’s base, to jubilant at my support for his personally going to the Shrine of Dumat, to _utterly fucking livid_ at my decision to walk into a war zone. That sort of emotional shift would screw up anybody. At least, that’s was what I was figuring as I shut the door behind me and threw the bolt.

“You wished to see me, Commander?” I asked, keeping my voice cool. Might as well even up the score with the titles bit.

His back was to me, facing the wall that housed the series of wardrobes. He was running a finger along the paneling of one of the doors. For what it was worth, he flinched.

“I do not want you anywhere near the Arbor Wilds,” he said softly.

“I gathered that,” I answered, managing to keep my tone level.

“No. _I_ do not want you anywhere near the Arbor Wilds,” he repeated, with new emphasis. He turned halfway around when I made no immediate reply, glancing over his shoulder towards me. “Not The Commander, not the ass standing over the table in the war room, not the officer at the head of the armies. Me. Just Cullen. I cannot bear the thought of you anywhere near red lyrium, red _templars_ , and I cannot keep that separate from my duties as an advisor.”

The fight ran right out of me. I took a halting step into the room. “I’m sorry, love, I _have_ to go.”

He shook his head, sadly. “You _say_ that but I have no reason to believe it true. Don’t get me wrong, I know you wouldn’t lie I just… I cannot believe that’s really necessary. Tell me. Tell _Hellen_. Tell _someone_. But stay here.” He turned the rest of the way to face me and took two steps towards me. “Stay someplace _safe_.”

“Hawke, Merrill, and Anders are pretty well versed in killing Templars,” I reminded him as gently as I could. Still, he flinched again. “I would be protected by two blood mages and an abomination-turned-spirit healer. No demons will dare come anywhere near me. Merrill is Dalish, she can move through the Arbor Wilds unseen. Besides, until the battle I would be right on that damn monster horse with you… you’d know where I was better then than if I-“

“You’re a noncombatant, Gwen,” he interrupted, and I could hear the frustration building in his voice. He moved his arms restlessly, and paced a little circle on the floor. “There is no such thing as _safety_ on a battlefield for you.”

“So I Fade Step in,” I countered, and he _flinched again_. “Cullen, I know what I’m doing. I know how to keep everyone safe inside that Temple. I know how to bring us all out intact and rather bored. And I know how to keep Hellen from making a monumental mistake, one that I cannot possibly dream of explaining in a way that she would believe. At this point _none_ of you will believe me, not a single damn one of you. I know you worry for my safety, but _please_ trust me when I say I know what I’m asking and I have _no_ desire to get shot again. That sucked.”

He went still, closing his eyes and standing silently in the middle of the room I had come to regard as _ours_.

“What’s really on your mind, Cullen?”

“Do you remember,” he said after a moment, pausing and shaking his head with a whispered _Maker, I hope you do_ , before continuing, “the morning we first laid together, in Halamshiral? Laying on the blanket in front of the fire and-“

“Yes,” I said, incredulous. “ _Of course I do_.”

“I asked you, that morning, if I was wrong to worry.”

A little ache blossomed behind my sternum, and I crossed the room in measured steps to throw my arms around him. He immediately pulled me against his chest and held me as if he feared I would vanish between one breath and the next.

“I don’t know what it is,” he whispered, voice muffled by the sound of his heartbeat thundering in my ear. “I don’t know if it’s my fundamental mistrust of the Fade or my inability to accept something incredible – some _one_ incredible – has given me a reason to live beyond duty, honor, and obligation. I _want_ things for myself, for the first time in my life, and I would do just about anything to keep this precisely the way it is. Waking up beside you, falling asleep beside you, running off to secluded corners of the keep in the middle of the afternoon like a couple of damn teenagers…” I smiled and rubbed my face into the fur of his pauldrons. “But I can’t shake the feeling that you’re going to just disappear. That everything I’ve come to love and treasure will just vanish in the moment between one heartbeat and the next.”

“Do you think it’s because that’s how I came to be here?” I hazarded the guess. “Since I just _appeared_ out of nowhere, you can’t shake the fear that I’ll _disappear_ in the same way?”

He shrugged and pulled me tighter against him. “I don’t know. Like I said, it doesn’t make any sense, I just can’t shake the feeling that this is all completely temporary, and if I’m not careful I’m going to look up and find you gone.”

“I am not going anywhere, Cullen,” I said, a conscious echo of the conversation we’d had on the floor that morning in the Winter Palace. “I have absolutely no desire to end this. I have plans to be here for _years_ to come, and I believe I have a purpose that stretches long into the future.”

“Jacqueline had a purpose, too,” he whispered, and my heart skipped a beat.

 _He was right_. Something – some _one_ – had stepped in and rather casually stripped that purpose from her. All the effort Andraste put into convincing her to come to Thedas was wasted in a moment of Gaspard’s paranoia – however apt – about Qunari involvement in Orlais.

“Jacqueline didn’t have you to protect her,” I opined instead. “She wasn’t dropped into Hellen’s lap. She didn’t have a mercenary company that called her _ma_. And she didn’t have Hawke.”

Cullen shivered a bit, but nodded.

“She was alone, Cullen. She had no idea what this world was, and she fell in with the absolute wrong person. I didn’t. You can’t compare my situation with hers.”

“No, you’re right,” he agreed quickly. “You’re right. Like I said, I can’t explain it. But I can’t _shake it_ , either.”

The sentiment brought to mind the recurring incidence of me _simply knowing_ things with no explanation. A cold sort of dread settled in the pit of my stomach. This was not something I felt, though; I couldn’t dismiss his concern but I dug deep and could not find the same fear in myself. One of us was wrong.

“You’ve been wrong before,” I teased.

“I did rather predict that some careless mage would tear a hole in the fabric of the Veil and rain demons down upon us all,” he countered, but there was humor in his voice and I allowed myself to laugh.

“See? Wrong. It was with _great care_ that some asshole mage tore a hole in the fabric of the Veil and-“ he interrupted me with a laugh of his own and then pulled me up into a kiss.

“Stay with me,” he said as we pulled apart.

“I will,” I answered immediately. “I promise.”


	56. Pt III Ch 8: Dreamweaver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think I was going to walk away from Tranquility, did you?  
> Also, Manic!Anders explains a lot of things, imho.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fly me high and through the starry skies  
> Or maybe to an astral plane  
> Cross the highways of fantasy  
> Help me to forget today's pain

The habit of waking up alone in a rumpled bed with a mage looming over me was one I was rapidly becoming disillusioned with.

“Anders?” I asked blearily, blinking my eyes at the orb of light the former warden was cupping in one hand.

“Get up, I had an idea.”

I made a sound that might have been, “hrngh,” as I rolled over.  “What time is it?”

“Not sure,” he answered, and there was something decidedly manic in his tone. “Passed Cullen on the way in, so I’m sure the sun will be up soon.”

“Did you not sleep?”

“Nope. Had the idea and then had Justice try to find you in the Fade and get you to come talk to me but he wouldn’t cooperate for some reason and so I had to wait until you were awake and I went to the library to kill some time but then I remembered that Cullen always woke up early and I would just ask him to wake you up when he woke up and I came here to do just that and he was already leaving and I-“

“Maker’s breath, shut up,” I groaned, rolling out of bed. “You’re like a Jack Russel terrier for fuck’s sake.”

“Sleep, the point is sleep,” he said, but I cut him off before he could launch into another rant.

“Yes. You should sleep. But if you’re too damn manic to sleep then I suppose that I’m suffering with you. I need ten minutes to wash up and then I’ll go along with whatever bullshit you have planned.”

“No, I mean, the key to the problem. Sleep is the key to the problem. Well, not sleep, but _dreams_.”

“Ten. Minutes.” I straightened and pressed my hand to his mouth. “Ten minutes of silence. Go.”

I got halfway up the stairs before he started in again. “Gwen, sleep is the solution, if you can just-“

“You’re leaving my room right now,” I said, not slowing my already-sluggish trek up the stairs. “You’re going to the kitchen, and you’re getting me something hot to drink. Coffee if you can find it, tea if you can’t.”

He bolted for the door, taking his orb of light with him, and left me to stumble up the stairs in the dark.

I was irritated enough to take my time drawing up a bath, and I was soaking when Anders returned, far more than ten minutes later.

“Kitchen staff wasn’t very cooperative,” he babbled by way of explanation. “Too busy trying to get breakfast ready to spare the time to prepare your coffee and _Andraste’s knicker weasels_ is your bath bubbling?”

“Coffee here,” I instructed, pointing at the stool I’d set near my tub for that purpose. “Dorian’s cask is there if you want it, runes are there on the shelf, water from the tap over there.”

For one long, glorious minute, Anders stood staring at the bubbling surface of the steaming water in my tub through the dubious candlelight, temporarily stunned silent. He set my coffee down and, without another word, poured himself a bath in Dorian’s cask.

“Is it inappropriate for-“

“Shut up and take a damn bath,” I muttered, leaning my head on the lip of my cask. “I bathe with Dorian and Hellen, as long as you’re not _in_ my cask nobody will give one single solitary fuck. And if they do I’ll skin them myself.”

Eyes closed, I tipped back until I was almost completely underwater and lifted my feet free of the tub, settling them on the lip and stretching my legs out. When I risked a glance at Ander’s direction, he was disrobed and sinking reverently into the bubbling water.

“You do this _every day_?” he breathed.

“Every day I can manage it, yeah.”

“Maker.”

The silence stretched on, then, and I made a concerted effort to get clean before Anders fell asleep and slipped under. He was definitely dozing when I stepped out of my tub, wrapped myself in a bathrobe, and silently let his water drain. I made my way downstairs to dress, taking the candle with me, and it wasn’t long before the cold caught up to him and he was dry, dressed, and sitting on my couch.

“Did you still want to talk at this god-awful hour, or can it wait until you’ve slept?”

Anders wearily waved a hand. “I learned a long time ago how to go without sleep.”

It was so close to what Cullen had said – regardless of the _very_ different connotations – that it gave me pause. “Is that a thing from Kirkwall?”

Anders’ expression darkened, turning truly haunted for the first time since I’d known him. “Yes. You could say that.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, and he nodded before shaking his head as if to clear the memory.

“Sleep,” he said, hearkening back to his earlier rant. “To cut to the chase, if you were to draw someone into your aura while they were already asleep, you could reintroduce them to the Fade in a dream, and save their sanity.”

I dropped heavily onto the couch across from him. “You’re talking about Tranquil.”

He nodded. “Varric was telling me about your first weeks – well, months really – here, and how you were _so insistent_ on everything being a dream. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like to wake up from a dream like that.”

He kept talking, but I didn’t need to listen anymore; I knew exactly what he was getting at.

Had my trip to Thedas been a dream, if I had woken up in a hospital bed, Patrick’s hand in my own, fingers interwoven and hopeful tears in his eyes, it was hard to imagine what my recovery would have entailed. It would have been some time before I could come to grips with the loss of Thedas, as I had made friendships from the first hours after I’d awoken in Haven. Eventually I would have come to grips with it having all been a dream, and remembered it fondly as a period of time that I spent outside of my body, and was maybe the better for.

Saying _it was all a dream_ made the acceptance of two incompatible realities far simpler. It had made my first weeks in Thedas easier, and it would have made my hypothetical recovery in a Boston hospital easier, as well.

It stood to reason that it would make recovery from Tranquility easier, as well.

“I could do that,” I told him when he seemed to realize I wasn’t listening. “I could straddle the Veil and approach a sleeping Tranquil – with their prior permission, of course – and pull them into my dream in the Fade. That doesn’t _ensure_ that they wouldn’t still go insane, however. But the loss of sanity would likely be slower, and it would give me the opportunity to build in a mechanism for cognitive behavior therapy.”

Anders looked torn between excitement and sorrow. “Rheyna has already agreed.”

I sighed. “Because of course you already talked to her.”

“Tranquil rarely sleep, and I did tell you I had gone to the library.”

“Right. And I suppose she’s on standby?”

“She could be here in minutes.”

I sighed again. “Bring Cassandra.”

“What? Why?”

“Because if we fuck this up, neither one of us will be able to kill Rheyna.”

His face went utterly blank and he left the apartment without another word.

Cassandra arrived just as the sunrise brightened my windows. “Anders told me,” she flatly informed me as I opened the door. I nodded and waved her in. We were seated – with more coffee, which Anders had apparently arranged to have sent up from the kitchens, thank god – for some ten solemn minutes before Anders and the Tranquil named Rheyna arrived.

“Rheyna, good morning,” I said as she entered.

“Good morning, Herald,” she answered. I could not help the shudder at the utter lack of any inflection in her words. The computerized voice of the assistant on my cell phone had more personality than the human being in front of me, and the only response I could muster was horror.

And maybe, somewhere deep inside, disgust.

“Did Anders-“

“Serah Anders has informed me of his plan and I can see the importance of such an experiment. As such I volunteer to be the subject.”

“You understand this could end in your death.”

“I do.”

The Tranquil could not fear death, I reflected; they couldn’t _fear_ anything. It’s what made them defenseless – and harmless. I felt the bile rise in the back of my throat again and soundlessly gestured for everyone to make their way to my couches and sit.

There was coffee for everyone, but Rheyna refused, as coffee gave her the shakes but no particular mental expedience.

Because of course it wouldn’t.

We made a plan, then, and it was only a few minutes before Anders placed a hand against the brand on Rheyna’s forehead and she tipped backwards onto the couch, asleep.

I had been sitting as far from her as I could, mindful of the way just brushing against the energy I unconsciously drew around me could reestablish Rheyna’s connection to the Fade. Once she was asleep, with a nod from Cassandra, I shifted my consciousness so I straddled the Veil, and moved to sit beside Rheyna on the couch.

Her form immediately flickered in my vision and then began to glow faintly white. I described it to Anders and Cassandra, and explained the implications. “She is not just restored to her dreams and emotions, but also to magic. Is that what we want? Is that what she wants? Why was she made Tranquil?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Anders began, but Cassandra cut him off. “It _does_ matter. It is not unheard of for mages to request Tranquility rather than undergo their Harrowing, or even later if they feel they can no longer defend themselves from demons. If she cannot control-“

“She was found being raped by a Templar,” Anders gritted. “The Templar immediately accused her of mind control, of being _maleficarum_ , and she was given the Brand within the hour.”

The bile rose in my throat again and I had to swallow a few times before I was sure my coffee would stay in my stomach.

Cassandra’s eyes were blood shot as I reached out and brushed a hand across Rheyna’s face. “Thank you for telling me, Anders,” I whispered as she, even asleep, leaned into my touch. “I would hate for that memory to be the first thing she encounters in the Fade.”

Without waiting for a response from either of them, I slid my consciousness completely into the Fade.

The room disappeared, but for Rheyna, caught in my aura, and the figure of Justice lounging nearby.

“Yes, I can see what she’s doing,” Justice sighed, and I knew he would give Anders a running commentary on the happenings in the Fade.

“Good morning, Justice,” I told the spirit, unconsciously giving his incorporeal form the shape of Anders’ in my mind.

“Good morning, Mother,” he responded.

“Rheyna,” I whispered to the woman sitting beside me.

She opened her eyes. “Maker,” she breathed, and immediately burst into tears. “Am I dreaming?”

I gathered her into my arms, ignoring Justice’s murmur of description, and nodded. “You are dreaming.”

“How? What-“

“Breathe,” I countered, and she hiccuped a weak sort of laugh.

“There’s no air in the Fade.”

“Humor me. Just breathe.”

With another weak laugh, she drew a deep breath.

“Just breathe for a moment. Focus on the air in, the air out, and listen to me.”

“Are you a demon?”

“No. I am _somniari_ , or near enough.”

“Near enough?”

“I am not a mage,” I told her, and watched the confusion flickered across her face. “I have simply learned to transverse the Fade without magic, and as such am not threatened by demons.”

“You are not real,” she countered. “None of this is real.”

“Let’s go with that,” I agreed, and more confusion flickered across her face. She opened her mouth to speak and I cut her off with a repeated admonishment to _breathe_.

“I’m going to tell you a story. Whether or not you really believe the story is up to you. Consider it allegory if you want, or take it verbatim, but the story is important. Do you understand?”

Her face was knotted with confusion now, but she nodded, drawing another slow breath.

“Your name is Rheyna,” I told her. “You lived in Kirkwall. You fell asleep one day in Kirkwall and had a horrible, terrible nightmare. You’ve been asleep for a very long time and the world has changed around you. People who loved you and cared for you took your sleeping form out of Kirkwall and brought it to me, here in the mountains, so that I could help you wake up. You’re going to wake up this morning in Skyhold, high in the Frostbacks, for the first time in years. Everything is going to feel weird and out of place but that’s to be expected because you’ve been asleep, having a terrible dream, for so very long.”

The confusion slowly slid from her face as I spoke, and I watched her eyes fill with unshed tears and then clear.

“Your story is a sweet one, if ultimately a lie,” she said softly.

I reached out and took her hands. “How often are we told stories as children to make lessons easier to understand?”

“I am not a child,” she countered.

“You are today,” I corrected softly, and her eyes welled over again.

“I can give you the choice,” I continued, once she had calmed and focused again on drawing unnecessary breaths of nonexistent air. “You can choose to go back to sleep, to stay in the dream you’ve been trapped in these years. It is safer, to be asleep. Or you can come with me, you can wake up to my world, you can attempt a more dangerous and difficult existence.”

“You are a demon, come to tempt me,” she said after a long pause for thought.

“You know me, Rheyna. You simply don’t recognize me here.”

She cracked open her eyes. “I do not know you.”

“My name is Gwen, and you call me _Herald_.”

Her expression became one of pure shock, and the tears filled her eyes again. “Herald. Herald, please. Tranquil. Dearest Maker, he raped me and they made me _Tranquil_ for it and I’m-“

“It was a dream,” I countered calmly. “A terrible dream.”

“That is a lie,” she barked, panicked, and I tightened my grip on her hands.

“So is the air in the Fade,” I reminded her. “But that did not make it any less calming to breathe.”

She went still, and I watched the emotions – dozens of them, hundreds – flicker across her once-impassive face. She seemed to settle on amusement, and shook her head as she made a sound that could be a sob or a laugh. She freed one hand and wiped a tear away from her eye.

“You are a devious bitch, my lady Herald.”

“Thank you, Rheyna,” I answered, and she came down on the side of laughter.

“A dream?” she asked weakly.

I nodded. “A dream. It was all a dream.”

“They say… they say Tranquil go insane when you reestablish their connection to the Fade.”

“Been reading, have you?”

“It was my job.”

“In the dream, you mean.”

She snorted. “The job I dreamed, yes.”

“None of those trials involved me,” I told her softly. “We’ve got Anders and Seeker Cassandra helping. You are going to be the first success.”

Her eyes widened, and I realized she had felt my will flow over her with my statement. “You’re a-“

“I’m not a demon,” I sighed, releasing her hands. “I just have a different sort of will than you’re used to feeling. I’m weird, Rheyna. But no demon could have pulled you back into the Fade. You know that.”

She closed her eyes – taking a long breath, I noted smugly – and slowly nodded. “A demon could not have pulled me across the Veil. A demon could not have _reconnected_ me to the Fade. Anders put me to sleep, sitting across the room from lady Gwen and lady Cassandra. You are not a demon and I…” She eyes slid open and for the first time her face was at peace – not impassivity, not absence, but the gentle joy of true peace. “I will be Tranquil no longer.”

I reached out with my will, past Justice, past my little bubble of the Fade, and I called for help.

“Mother,” the response was instant. “Mother, Mother, Mother.” Hundreds of voices – thousands of voices – appearing out of nowhere to encircle the bubble of violence that surrounded me in the Fade.

Rheyna drew into herself in fear, but as she looked around she saw Peace, Justice, Wisdom, Faith, Compassion… not one demon in the mix. “Maker,” she breathed.

“Rheyna was Tranquil,” I announced to the eager – if featureless – faces of the spirits. “I have been told by the Seekers that her connection can be repaired with the help of a spirit. I would like to ask one of you to help her.”

“Here,” Justice said, pulling a spirit out of the crowd. “Peace will come.”

“Peace,” Rheyna breathed.

“Peace, you wish to help?”

The spirit standing alongside Justice – with the appearance of a child – nodded.

“Do you understand what is needed?”

“She wishes to be whole,” he answered with a child’s voice. “I can make her whole.”

I extended my hand to him and drew him into my aura. He went immediately to Rheyna and knelt so his nose was almost touching hers.

“Peace,” she whispered again, and the spirit – with a smile – kissed her forehead.

The sunburst brand vanished, and Rheyna blinked slowly before smiling up at his featureless face.

“Thank you,” she said,

“I am diminished,” he said by way of response. “But I will recover. Be at peace.”

With exchanged nods with Rheyna, he reached one hand towards me. “Mother?”

I took his hand and drew him into a hug. He gave a shuddering sort of sigh. “Send me back through, Mother, so I may rest and recover.”

“Thank you,” I told him and he seemed to glow brighter for a moment. I willed him back through the swirling vortex of energy around us and he vanished. I noticed, then, that the rest of the crowd was gone as well. Justice was only visible if I looked for him, so it seemed only Rheyna and I sat in the alien wasteland of the Raw Fade.

“Are you ready to wake up?” I asked her.

She took my hands and stood.

“I have been asleep a very long time,” she said carefully. “I am afraid to wake up.”

“You will not be alone,” I told her. “We have watched over you and cared for you while you slept.”

She took another deep, intentional breath of the nonexistent Fade air and nodded. “A long and terrible nightmare,” she said, fixing it in her mind. “A long and _terrible_ nightmare that will be difficult to wake up from. A nightmare. A nightmare.”

“Wake up,” I told her, and she was gone.

 

*

 

Cassandra was standing behind Rheyna’s slouched form when I came out of the Fade, only an instant after willing the former Tranquil awake. Rheyna could not see her – which was just as well, because the Seeker had a dagger drawn and was clearly ready to strike. Anders was sitting on Rheyna’s other side, and the fierce look of hope and vindication on his face was enough to make me smile.

“Good morning, Rheyna,” I said, conscious of the bright rays of early morning sunshine streaming through my windows.

“Good morning, Gwen,” she replied. She cracked open her eyes and blinked against the light while asking, slowly and deliberately, “How long have I been asleep?”

“Today is the fourteenth day of Haring, nine-forty-one Dragon. You’ve been asleep some six years now.”

Rheyna took a shaky sort of breath, and slowly smiled. “I have had the most terrible dream.”

Cassandra’s eyes widened and she slowly sheathed her dagger.

“It is best not to dwell on it,” Anders said, rather briskly. “Not until you’ve had awhile to get your bearings.”

“Right,” she said, nodding. “Right.”

“Here,” I said, offering her a polished plate. She gave me a sideways glance and then tipped it up.

The sunburst was gone from her forehead here, as it had been in the Fade, and she gave another shuddering sort of sigh. “A dream,” she whispered. “A terrible nightmare from which I have just woken up.”

“Come,” Cassandra said then, drawing all our attention and causing Rheyna to spin around, having apparently forgotten the Seeker was present. “We must introduce you to Enchanter Fiona, who leads the mages here, and find you suitable housing. You have no more need of the infirmary, now that you are awake.”

Rheyna smiled broadly, and then seemed to wince, as if the expression hurt her. I realized they were muscles she hadn’t used in six years, and it probably _did_ hurt a bit to smile. I wrapped a hand around her arm. “A dream,” I reminded her. “It will take your body awhile to work out the aches and pains of disuse.”

She smiled again, seeming to embrace the ache. “Thank you, Gwen.”

“You are quite welcome, Rheyna,” I answered. “My door is always open to you.”

Cassandra and Anders flanked her as Rheyna moved towards my door, and then out into the sunshine for what must have felt like the first time.

I watched the door close behind them, pulled a blanket off the back of the couch, and gave in to exhausted, exhilarated, ecstatic tears until I fell asleep.


	57. Pt III Ch 9: What Do You See When You Turn Out the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do I do when my love is away  
> (Does it worry you to be alone)  
> How do I feel by the end of the day  
> (Are you sad because you're on your own)  
> No, I get by with a little help from my friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is going up late. Currently living in a hospital ER with a family member, so my online presense is going to be sporadic at best.

I awoke some time after midday to find Rheyna’s tear-streaked face hovering above me.

“Rheyna,” I said, sitting up quickly. “What-“

“Tranquil,” she sobbed. “Tranquil, they made me Tranquil, I was Tranquil, and-“

“Sit,” I said, drawing her down beside me on the couch. “Rheyna, it was a dream. It was all a dream. None of that happened.”

“That is a _lie_.”

“It is the air in the Fade, Rheyna,” I told her as I slipped off the cushion to kneel in front of her. I took both of her hands and her eyes reflexively sought mine.

“Breathe,” I told her, and she took a sobbing breath. “Good girl. Breathe out. Good. Do it again. Good. Again.”

She was shaking, trembling violently, and the tears streamed down her face unchecked.

“I’m not,” she sobbed, losing her voice and swallowing twice before trying again. “I’m not… in… control. The demons… the demons… they _know_.”

I snorted, and the reaction startled her badly. She was definitely out of control, rocking from one emotion to the next-

-but it was to be expected, after all.

“There are no demons anywhere near you, dear girl,” I said without one bare ounce of humility.

“How can you-“

“Because I control this area of the Fade,” I answered smugly. “You’d be hard pressed to find a demon anywhere near Skyhold since I figured out how to look for them and started incinerating the dumb ones.”

Her jaw dropped, and she seemed too surprised to remember her fear. “You _are_ a demon.”

I laughed. “I am not! Do you think Cullen would sleep with me if I-“

“You and Knight-Captain _Cullen_?” she gasped, and I laughed harder.

“Yes, although he is Commander Cullen now, and left the Templar order. He’s quit taking lyrium, as well, to further separate himself from the order.”

“Templars… Knight-Lieutenant Randen… he…”

“Rheyna, listen to me,” I interrupted, losing any sense of levity. “Listen to me right now. There will be a time and a place for us to come to grips with that. With all of that. The time is not now. What you must do now is learn how to regulate emotion again. You have to remember who you were before that part of your mind was put to sleep. And do not think for one second that isn’t what happened. The part of you that is _you_ was asleep, and we woke it up. You were asleep. You sleep-walked through the last six years and you have to learn how to be awake again. That will not happen overnight and you have to dedicate yourself to that task.”

“But…”

“You cannot process those events without some emotional capacity. You only harm yourself by trying to remember. You need to remember _Rheyna_ , not what was done to Rheyna.”

“I don’t know how,” she confessed.

“Alright,” I said. “Alright. This task is bigger than us. Come on.”

I tugged her to her feet and started pulling her to the door.

“Where are we going?”

“We’ll get by with a little help from our friends,” I said, letting a touch of the melody I was stealing the words from into my voice.

“But I don’t know anyone here… but… but _Tranquil_.”

“Yeah, well…” I sighed, shivering against the frozen howl of wind as we pushed out of the tower and onto the battlements. “You’re apparently one of my kids now, and you have a fuck ton of siblings to become acquainted with.”

“ _What_?”

“Fuck, I should have brought my coat. You know what? _Run_.”

I tugged her hand along behind me and darted across the battlements, _freezing_ , and grinning with idiocy of it.

Behind me, her voice half-lost to the wind, Rheyna started to laugh.

There were three towers between us and the back door into the ‘Rest, the last one housing Cullen’s office. We didn’t see anyone but a number of very confused guards in the other towers as we shot thru, giggling, but Cullen was seated at his desk in the middle of what seemed to be an incredibly important meeting.

“Hello!” I called, laughing, as we shouldered through the heavy door. There was snow on my hair and my watering eyes had caused patches of ice to freeze on my cheeks. Rheyna was laughing helplessly in my wake, but I was relieved to note the laugh was clean; there were no notes of hysteria I could hear. “Excuse us! Pardon me! Freezing my asshole solid here, let us through, there’s a good man.”

I elbowed my way through the crowd – managing one wry grin in Cullen’s direction, to see the Commander doing his best to seem _not_ amused by the interruption – and made a bee-line for the far door. “Forgive the shortcut! Excuse me! Sorry! Sorry! Do as I say, not as I do! Thank you!” The door popped open just as we reached it – a runner with something for Cullen, and I was startled into taking a half-step backwards and bumping in Rheyna, who just laughed harder. I popped up on tip-toe to plant a loud kiss on the runner’s cheek and then pushed on past as the room behind us erupted into laughter.

“FUCK its cold,” I complained right as the door was swinging shut, and another peal of laughter from Cullen’s officers met the statement. Then the door thudded closed and we were running across the battlements again. The door into the ‘Rest was in the next tower, and we ducked through with laughter still loud in our throats. The heat from the top floor of the tavern hit us like an open oven, but even then it took a moment to warm up.

Rheyna and I freed our hands long enough to wipe the water from our eyes and the ice from our cheeks, and then I led her down the winding stairs to the table on the ground floor where there was a stool with my name carved in it.

There were seven or so Chargers present – there were always _some_ Chargers in the ‘Rest if they weren’t out on a mission – and I was greeted with a bit more exuberance than normal, since I was so many hours early. I hooked a foot around my stool, drew it out from under the table, and slid it over to Rheyna with far more grace than I could usually manage.

“Who’s the mage, Perky?” Krem asked as the cheers announcing my arrival quieted.

“This is Rheyna,” I told him. “Rheyna’s had a rough time of it and we need some help getting her back up to speed.”

“You’ve got a mission for us, ma?” Krem asked, scooting out his typical chair beside mine. “It’s about damn time.”

“Yeah, you could have sent us for that bag for Twitch, instead of the Jennies,” Siren complained.

“Or picked us to be your party on the way to the Arbor Wilds,” Twitch added with a quirked eyebrow.

“I might still be Fade-Stepping to the Arbor Wilds,” I told Twitch, and he rolled his eyes.

“That is OP as shit,” he told me in English.

“I know, right?” I laughed in the same language.

“Oh... Pee…?” Krem repeated.

“Two letters of our alphabet,” I told Krem in Common. “In this case, it stands for Over Powered. It’s a reference to-“

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Skinner reminded me. “You got a mission for us or what, ma?”

“Why do they all keep calling you _ma_?” Rheyna asked softly.

“That is a _great question_ , Rheyna,” I cooed. “And I’m going to have them tell you all about it. But first…” I stepped up onto the chair Krem had pulled out but not yet sat in and pitched my voice to carry over the ambient noise of the tavern. “Horns up, Chargers, I’ve got a mission for ya,”

The _cheer_ that went up was as loud as it was ridiculous. Within five minutes every last one of the mercenary company had poured in from all over the keep, and Cabot was grumbling a steady stream of five-syllable words as he tried to keep up with the influx of beer orders. I was handed up to stand on the table itself, and waited for some semblance of order.

“Alright, alright, alright, sit down,” Krem called out, and then motioned for me to speak.

“This is Rheyna,” I said, gesturing again to the mage, who managed to blush prettily. “Rheyna has a hell of a story, but she’s can’t tell it. Not yet. As far as anyone is concerned, Rheyna was asleep for the last _six years_ and caught in a shitty nightmare. She woke up this morning, and is discombobulated as fuck. Your mission is to keep her out of her own head.”

“Are you saying our mission is to sit in the Rest and tell stories until Rheyna feels better?” Skinner asked slowly.

“I am.”

“And… what is our… reward… for this mission?” Twitch asked. “I mean, beyond the excuse that gives us to be slackoffs for the next day or three.”

I shrugged. “I’ll buy the beer. I trust Cabot to keep you all at a reasonable level of shitfaced.”

 _That_ cheer put the first one to shame.

“Right, right, right, here’s the catch,” I said, and they fell silent again. “If you guys wreck anything in the ‘Rest or _anybody_ asks Rheyna about something that upsets her, _you_ all owe _me_ for the beer you drink.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” Dalish called back. “You’re on!”

I jumped down from the table during the next round of cheers and leaned over to whisper to Rheyna, who was smiling in an _I have no idea what just happened_ sort of way. “The Chargers are going to tell you stories. I’ll be around – in and out – but if you get to feeling bad, reach out to Twitch. He’s the one with the nasty scar down the side of his face who asked about the reward. Don’t think about yourself. Don’t think about your dream. Just listen to their stories and _feel_ whatever it is they’re talking about.”

She nodded. “I… I think I can do that.”

I gave her my best smile, waited for her to return it, and then I grabbed Twitch and dragged him to the side.

“She was Tranquil,” I whispered in English, and his eyes went wide. “I brought her out of it but she’s the first one who hasn’t gone insane immediately. If she does anything scary, you are to will her _calm_ with every ounce of force you can muster. And then send somebody for me.”

“You healed a Tranquil? Are you fucking kidding me?”

I managed an impish sort of grin. “OP as shit, am I right?”

He shook his head. “So unfair.”

“If she wants to talk, that’s fine. Let her set the tone and her own pace. But if she starts talking about anything that sounds even remotely like _and then I was raped by a Templar and made Tranquil_ you send for me, stat.”

Twitch winced. “Shitty. Thanks for the head’s up, ma.”

I clapped him in the shoulder as Siren was launching into the first story – it sounded like the night we got in trouble for target practice on the roof of my tower after Hawke and Dalish got into a pissing match to see who could shoot a fireball further – and made my way over to Cabot and explained the terms of my agreement.

He knew I was good for it, and he grumbled a bit but acquiesced.

I made some rounds around the keep, then… First to Josephine and Leliana to make sure Cassandra had told them about Rheyna (she had) and a similar conversation with Fiona and Vivienne who both, thankfully, were also aware. Anders had spread word to Hawke, who in turn had told Merrill and Morrigan.

The word was spreading, and spreading fast: The Herald had successfully cured Tranquility.

Cullen’s office was clear when I made my second pass through a few hours later, after grabbing my coat from the apartment and making a stop in the ‘Rest to see Rheyna laughing (appropriately) along with Skinner’s account of being on hallway duty at Halamshiral on the night Cullen and I came home early. I blushed, hard, all the way to my toes, and beat a hasty escape as they all laughed at my expense.

“I REGRET NOTHING,” I hollered from the stairs as I fled towards the battlements, and another raucous cheer followed me out.

“Maker, you must be cold, you’re bright red,” Cullen said by way of greeting when I burst back into his office.

“Right. Cold,” I sighed, and he looked confused but didn’t pursue the topic. “I came back to apologize for earlier-“

“There is no need,” Cullen cut me off, laughing. “The meeting was largely concluded anyways, and it did my officers good to see you as a person and not an impersonal hand of the Maker. Devon and the others have done a good job of inflating your reputation, but their insistence of your humanity has fallen on largely deaf ears.”

“So me cursing a bit and acting like an idiot was helpful? Andraste’s ass, have I become Sera?”

“Temporarily, perhaps,” he replied with a smile, and gestured for me to sit.

“I can’t stay long,” I told him as I dropped into the chair. “I have to go-“

“Check on Rheyna, yes. Cassandra made sure everyone in the keep knew exactly what was going on with her. How was it for you, bringing her out of Tranquility like you did?”

“The closest thing I have ever experienced to true, unmitigated, _victory_.”

Cullen snorted a laugh and then chuckled for several seconds as I made a show of rubbing my hands together for warmth. With a sigh, he gestured at his desk full of paperwork. “I should be able to leave the morning after next. We’re expecting a bird from Hellen tomorrow, and I would leave at the first daybreak after it arrives.”

I nodded. “Be careful?”

His hands stilled, and he slowly set the quill down. “I do not always remember that you are as invested in my continued survival as I am in yours.”

“Ass,” I replied happily. “Did you think I wouldn’t worry for you at all while you were away?”

“You were so readily accepting of my decision to go… yes. Yes, actually, I assumed you were unconcerned.”

I shook my head and laughed at him. “I will worry every second that you’re away.”

He stood up quickly and strode to the bookshelf near the door to the south battlements, the one he punches in the cutscene with the Inquisitor, the place where I knew he once stored his lyrium phial. He lifted the lid on a stout wooded box and retrieved what appeared to be a small velvet pouch.

“I thought not to give this to you,” he said, staring at the object in his hands. “I thought you might not need it, or even want it, or that you might scoff at the implications of carrying it. But if it would keep you from worrying, buy you even a single second of peace, it is worth whatever censure it earns me.”

“What is it?” I asked, when he paused again. He breathed out audibly and then spun lightly on his heel, crossing the room quickly to kneel beside the chair I occupied and hold the velvet pouch out in both hands, as if he was offering me something infinitely precious. I very carefully lifted it from his hands, tugged open the drawstring, and dumped the contents gently into my own cupped hand. A perfect crystal vial, wrapped in heavy gold wire, a single drop of subtly throbbing red liquid floating in the middle of the vial… it could only be one thing.

“Cullen, this is a phylactery,” I stated the obvious, shocked.

“I… had heard so much about the phylacteries Hawke made, for his companions, and saw how useful they ended up becoming… I have been trained in the use of phylacteries for decades and never thought to have one of my own. But it-“

“It’s _yours_?” I breathed, and he nodded again, drawing his bottom lip into his teeth and rubbing one hand across the back of his neck.

“I thought, well, rather, I hoped…” He exhaled, exasperated, and started over. “If you have it, I will always know where you are, and Hawke can show you how to use it to find me, or, or, well, I could show you. I know now it’s more a matter of will and knowledge, made easier with lyrium but by no means requiring it. And since Hawke made it, you can… it can be used to speak to me, if there is ever anything… or, rather, something you need me, or even just, well, _want me_ to know, and I’m not here, you could-“

“Cullen,” I breathed, finally finding my voice to cut off his increasingly embarrassed stutter. “This is the most amazing thing. I can’t believe… Oh, this is _brilliant_.”

“You think so?” he asked, brightening.

“Of course I do! I’m only angry I didn’t think of it myself-“

“No,” he countered immediately, wrapping my hands around the metal-wrapped object. “No, you must not make one of your own, not even for me to keep. No one can know how to find you.”

“But if someone has this, if they can find _you_ , they will know how to find _me_ ,” I told him softly.

He closed his eyes and dropped his head, as if the sudden smile that bloomed across his face was painful. It reminded me of Rheyna – and how my responsibility was to her, and not this perfect moment with Cullen. _Fuck it_ , I thought. _Twitch has got this_.

“The only way,” Cullen replied after a moment of apparently basking in my insinuation of our being inseparable, “and I do mean the _only_ way someone will get this away from you is if they take it from your corpse. I have felt your will, I have seen you stare down a Witch of the Wilds, the Empress of Orlais, and Hellen Adaar herself. No, Gwen, if somebody else has this, I would rather they came looking for me.”

The chill in his words made my heart stutter, and for an instant I _pitied_ the hypothetical person who hurt me to get to Cullen. I dropped my eyes down to the phylactery and saw a small ring of metal threaded through the top of the vial. I dug my pendant out of my coat and closed the ring around the everite chain I hadn’t taken off since Dagna had slipped it on, all those months ago. “I’m going to move it,” I told him as he frowned at the way the phylactery rattled across the Inquisition emblem. “I’ll have Dagna put a hole in this bottom bit of sunburst, and it will hang… well. Right against my heart, where no one will see it but us.” It would have been more honest to say it would be hidden in the depths of my cleavage but Cullen didn’t need the words when the visual was so readily available.

“So you… you don’t mind that I-“

“This is a brilliant solution to so many things, Cullen,” I reassured him. “You’ll know where I am in the Arbor Wilds and I’ll always know you’re alright. I love the idea of being able to talk to you if we’re apart. How much heartache would this have solved if I would have had it when I Fade-Stepped to the Dales that one time?”

“Here,” he said, pulling me out of the chair. “I didn’t want to Hawke to try it out, it seemed… creepy. I’ve grown accustomed to him, but that doesn’t mean I want Garrett Hawke’s voice in my head.”

I laughed as he walked me across the room and stood me in the corner nearest the ladder to this former bedroom. “Hawke said all the magic is already in the phylactery, that the act of making it takes care of the mana and casting and whatnot. You’re just using it, now, like you would a flask of balefire or an enchanted sword.”

“So, I just, what? I speak to the phylactery like I’m speaking to you?”

“You speak to the phylactery with the intention of speaking to me, I believe is how he said it.”

“Oh,” I replied, holding the wire-wrapped crystal to my lips. Cullen was utterly distracted for a moment, before shaking himself and striding to the opposite corner of the room. He turned his back to me and put his face resolutely into the corner.

I closed my eyes and turned my back to him. With the phylactery pressed to my lips, I whispered, “Cullen. My Cullen. I waited years for you to be mine and I am never, _ever_ , giving you up.”

I pressed my lips together and thought of something steamier to say, but his hands were suddenly on my waist, spinning me around and lifting me slightly into the air before pinning me between him and the wall, his mouth descending on mine hungrily.

“Oh,” I managed when he let me up for air, setting his forehead to mine. “I guess you heard me, then.”

“It was… it was your voice, pitch perfect, breathing in my ear as if you were standing right next me.”

“So you’re doubly glad you didn’t test it out with Hawke,” I guessed.

Cullen’s laugh of surprise caused him to nearly drop me, and he let me slide down the wall and get my feet under me again while he shook his head ruefully. “Yes, I don’t know as I would have recovered from Hawke’s breathy whisper in my ear.”

“Now I know why Anders can’t talk to him with the phylactery he has.”

“Ser,” a voice called from behind Cullen, and I couldn’t stifle my snicker as Cullen sighed and turned to get called back to work. “Oh, shi- Sorry. Sorry, ser, should I-“

“No, Lovett, it’s fine. What have you got for me, soldier?”

I slipped out the door on the east wall and darted across the bailey wall, hurrying to get into the main hall before the wind chilled me too thoroughly. “Going to see Dagna,” I whispered to the phylactery. “I’m going to drive you to distraction with this for awhile.”

With one hand on the crystal I could ever so faintly feel the gentle throb of Cullen’s heartbeat, strong and slow, the fifty beats per minute of someone whose profession is their physical fitness.

Dagna made short work of the alteration to the pendant, although the few minutes I didn’t have it on while she worked on it were actually uncomfortable. “I feel so naked right now,” I confessed as she painstakingly created and reinforced a space for the phylactery to be suspended from.

“You’re missing a few thousand runes worth of elemental protection,” she replied a bit absently. “And you haven’t taken this off once, have you?”

“Not once.”

“No wonder the Commander’s fond of it.”

“Don’t give me any of that lip,” I retorted.

“Sounds better coming from the Inquisitor,” Dagna returned with a smirk. She also returned the pendant, helping me secure Cullen’s phylactery to the bottom and then standing back with a smirk as I tucked it into my cleavage. “No more revealing Orlesian dresses for you, it seems.”

“My new goal is to show off the phylactery within my décolletage,” I shot back, and we both laughed.

I was off to the ‘Rest again, but Rheyna was in good hands yet. Cassandra was now lurking at the bar with Varric and the Kirkwall crew, extending the tentative peace she had created with the Champion in the months since he’d arrived in Skyhold. I fell back into my nightly routine, one eye on the Chargers, bouncing between friends and social groups, laughing more often than not. Through it all, the gentle reminder of Cullen’s heartbeat thrummed against my sternum, and I felt more at peace than I had ever before in my life.

 

*

 

Cullen had a thousand things to do the day before he left for the Shrine of Dumat, as the bird he was expecting did come in the next afternoon. Hellen was already on the road, poised to meet him in the north, near the border of Nevarra and Orlais. I made everything four times harder by checking in regularly via phylactery.

“It is absolutely freezing in the bath room this morning,” I whispered to the crystal as I slipped into the bubbling cask of gently steaming water. “Maker, but it would be nice to be stretched out in front of the fireplace in our apartment in Halamshiral again.”

I had lunch with the Kirkwall crew, and took the opportunity to explain my plan for the Arbor Wilds to Hawke. I couldn’t have made him more excited if I’d tried. “Oh, Adaar is going to be _pissed_. I love it. We’re in. We’re _so in_.”

“What are we in?” Merrill asked.

“Escorting Perky here to the Arbor Wilds, rather than stay here and babysit Skyhold. We’ll give Alistair and Fiona control of the keep again, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah, Alistair does _not_ get to come. But Merrill… I particularly want you with us, Merrill. The ruins we are going to are the most amazing temple, and I think it’s something you really need to see.”

“Is this something you know from your game?” Anders asked.

I shook my head. “No. This is me taking the initiative to fix things.”

“Fix things?” Merrill asked. Hawke covered her hand with one of his own. “She means like at Adamant, Daisy.”

“Oh,” Merrill breathed. “You’re going to keep someone from dying?”

I shook my head. “I’m going to keep someone from falling into a trap they’ve been running from their entire life.”

As I left our lunch table, I drew the phylactery to my lips again and whispered to Cullen, “Do you think the trip to the Arbor Wilds will be as cold as the trip home from Halamshiral? Will you keep me warm again?”

I was warming up the infirmary again, with a march through the Dales falling on the heels of the assault on the Shrine of Dumat we were likely to have _some_ use for the room, even with two spirit healers on the payroll. Eleanor was found – she’d been teaching war widows and refugees the very marketable skill of healing, with my effusive blessing – and tapped to come with me to the Arbor Wilds. Edmun was being left in charge of the infirmary while we were gone.

“Do you remember sweeping me into your arms when I stumbled outside the infirmary that night, ages ago?” I whispered to Cullen as the sun was beginning to dip behind the mountains to the west. I considered the memory for a moment as I made my way to the kitchen to pick up a late dinner before adding, “To think you loved me, even then. I am so blessed to have you.”

Dinner was a bowl of thick stew and a hunk of bread, eaten while standing next to Dagna in the undercroft as she explained the new runing she wanted to put on the piano to make it stay permanently in tune. I gave her suggestions on where she could etch the runes to minimize them being worn down, as well as recommendations on the quietest time to be in the ‘Rest.

“I hope you don’t plan to stay in the office too late,” I whispered into the phylactery as I wandered our apartment, putting things in order as the first step in my nightly routine before bed. “I’m not looking forward to being in this bed alone.”

The door to our apartment slammed open less than two minutes later, the Commander’s face flushed with what seemed to have been a dead sprint across the battlements. He kicked the door shut and threw the bolt, and then he was across the room and my feet were off the floor and my back was against the wall and his hands were _everywhere_.

“The message this morning, I laughed. Thought you would just have your fun. But no. All day,” he muttered as he traced the lines of my neck with his teeth and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. “I would suddenly get your voice in my ear and I would _think_ I knew where you were and as soon as I could break away I would.” He pushed the neck of my dress aside with his nose as he ran his mouth down my collar bone and I fought for breath. “And I missed you. Every time I knew you were already gone, could _feel_ you close by, know that _fucking_ phylactery was close, but I didn’t have the time to track you.”

His hands found the hem of my dress and dragged it over my head, and I _gasped_ as my back hit the cold stone of the wall.

“If you want me to stop you’d better tell me right now,” he said through clenched teeth, his hands hovering so close to my skin they raised goosebumps down my limbs.

“Don’t you _dare_ stop,” I hissed, and wrapped my legs around his waist.

I didn’t know how long he would be gone. I could only imagine that he would return, much less come home hale and himself. This world was cold, and brutal, and unforgiving. This night could be our last.

It seemed I had learned how to go without sleep, as well.

 

*

 

I saw him off from the battlements, not trusting my voice in front of the soldiers he was leading to confront Samson. Our goodbyes were private – and perfect – in our apartment in the small hours before dawn, before he slid out of bed and dressed.

He wore the armor he’d warned me about in Halamshiral, a functional set of plate that marked him as a Commander but showed he clearly meant to fight. Dagna had confessed it was mostly silverite and volcanic aurum, but she’d created a proprietary blend of minerals that she’d used to coat all the surfaces that gave the metal a brassy sort of tone. I strongly suspected there was a goodly amount of gold in that _mineral blend_ , as the runes along every edge of the armor glinted in a way that reminded me of the pendant she’d made from my earthly wedding ring.

The armor itself was styled like that of the Lord Seeker, and I mentioned as much to him as he steadily buckled it on that morning.

“Well, the armor of the Seekers was ultimately designed to fight Templars, as they are as likely to find fault within the order as without.”

“So the design is intentional?”

“Everything about armor is intentional, Gwen.”

“Even the skirt Templars wear?”

“It’s not a _skirt_ , its-“

My giggle may have ruined the solemnity of the moment, and he grinned at me. “You know, traditional Ferelden warriors wore a sort of _skirt_ that was wrapped and-“

“Dear Mary Mother of God, you actually wear kilts,” I breathed in English, ecstatic.

“You… have a word in English for our kilts?”

I made a sound that may or may not have been consciously done, and it widened his grin. “It’s good to know you’re Fereldan at heart, a fierce kilt-wearing dog-lover.”

“Will you describe me like that to your family?” I teased.  
“I did not use those words exactly, but I could, if you like, the next time I write.”

“You… already told Mia about me?” I tried not to sound as anxious as I suddenly felt, but failed miserably.

“Gwen,” he finished stomping his armor into place and crossed the room to draw me out of bed, where I’d laid watching him, and dragged me into his arms. “Mia knew I loved you before I did, before even you, in all your endless wisdom and foresight, ever suspected how badly afflicted I was with love for you. You told me to write her, the first day you spoke at the war table, in horribly broken and wonderfully accented Kingspeak, and I could think of nothing else to write of but you. You worked your way into every bit of news I had to tell her, from the loss of Haven that you fought to prevent, to the discovery of Skyhold that you encouraged Hellen to trust Solas in, to the enhancements to the keep and focus of the Inquisition that you directed by sheer determination. She knew, just as you knew, just as everyone else seemed to know except me. And if I don’t come back, if something happens to me or to the Inquisition… you will have a home with Mia.”

I shook my head, willing the tears to stay in my eyes. This was not the turn I expected the conversation to take. “Cullen, I-“

“We’ll talk about the trip to South Reach to see my sister and the rest of the family when this is all over,” he whispered. “Add it on to the _after_ conversation.”

I nodded mutely and he pressed a kiss to the top of my hair.

“I love you, Gwendolyn Rhiannon Murray.”

“As I love you, Cullen Stanton Rutherford.”

“When did I tell you my middle name?”

“You didn’t.”

He snorted a laugh and kissed me again before releasing me and moving away. “Someday that will get old.”

“Long after we both do, love.”

“I certainly hope so,” he said with a smile. He paused at the door, saddlebags already downstairs at the stables with Korth, and looked at me for a long moment as if fixing me in his mind. “Dream of me,” he said as he opened the door.

I pressed my hand to the phylactery against my heart. “Forever.”

With another smile, he was gone.

I got dressed in a rush, as warmly as I could manage, and crossed the battlements to stand above the gate. He didn’t look up, but with the phylactery beneath my coat I could be sure he knew I was there. He rode away without looking back, and I made my way silently back into the keep.

It was four days to the Shrine of Dumat, with the way Cullen intended to travel, and I anticipated two days on-site and four days back.

It should be ten days until Cullen returned, with Hellen.

We would all be together in Skyhold for two days, and then ride out to the Arbor Wilds.

Everything we had tried to do was rapidly coming to a head. I had two weeks to steel myself for the confrontation at the Temple.

Within the next months, the Breach would reopen over Haven and our lives would either end… or finally begin.


	58. Pt III Ch 10: Before the Plunge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes prepare for their trip to the Arbor Wilds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To answer all your very kind thoughts - my person is much improved. All I can say is mental health care in this country is _disgraceful_ and I've never been so glad to be an RN and be able to take care of my family in times like this. He's home with me now, and things will get better.

The ten days Cullen was gone – or rather the ten days and nine long lonely nights – would have been unspeakably boring if we weren’t gearing up the Inquisition to march on the Arbor Wilds. That, and I amused myself every night by waiting until midnight and then whispering something overly suggestive to Cullen before looking for him in the Fade. He promised, repeatedly, to make me make good on every filthy promise I taunted him with while he was away. It was something to look forward to, at least, and I always knew he was thinking of me.

I found myself in practice drills with Merrill, Hawke, and Anders in the mornings, learning to move silently through a battleground by sneaking through the training rings of the Inquisition soldiers. We stepped it up a notch by playing an elaborate game of capture the flag with the Chargers in the empty lower levels of the keep, the three mages and I having to stay undetected while the Chargers were tasked with finding us and stopping our progress.

It was amazing how loud my _breath_ could be when I was trying to be silent.

Dagna had me fitted with more appropriate attire for sneaking through a battlefield, and the completed set was delivered the day before Hellen and Cullen got home, bringing Dorian and Cole and Bull home with them. 

I was tempted to wear the [Dalish-inspired](https://40.media.tumblr.com/877bfd3196086cb1db44a7a2b2e39029/tumblr_o49os4HxzV1tqwcj6o1_500.jpg), runed-to-the-teeth layers of leather dyed a hundred shades of green and brown down to the courtyard to meet my loved ones the night they were set to arrive, but Cassandra strongly encouraged me to show up in my infirmary uniform.

“Let the Commander see _you_ and not immediately think of you walking into danger. You will have a better homecoming this way.”

“You’re my favorite, Cassandra.”

“Do not worry, I will not tell Dorian.”

I was bouncing on my heels in the courtyard, an hour after full dark, when everyone I loved most in the world came home. Dorian was the first one though the gates, risking a full gallop in the dark to where he saw me standing, white tunic gleaming in the moonlight.

“Gwennie!” he called happily, dropping off his horse to sweep me into his arms and swing us around in several dancing sorts of circles. “Oh, Gwennie love, tell me I can have a bath before bed.”

“Go right now,” I laughed. “I’ll have your horse seen to, just so long as you get the hell out as soon as you’re done.”

“I’m fairly certain I don’t want to be watching what you have planned,” he replied with a wink. “You should see the look on his face when your voice is suddenly in his ear. Brilliant, love, _brilliant_.”

Dorian had time to disappear completely before anyone else was even visible down the long causeway; he must have been running full tilt for quite awhile to be so far ahead. Cole was next, riding in with Bull and Blackwall and sliding down from his saddle before either of the larger men could begin their own dismounts. “Home,” he said, pulling me into a tight hug.

“Welcome home, Cole,” I answered, and he pulled me tighter.

“It’s getting fainter all the time,” he confided, and I reached up to cup one hand to his cheek.

“It will be okay, love. We will teach you how to know what people are thinking from their faces and their words, rather than their thoughts. It doesn’t work as well, but we all manage to get by. Stick close to Varric, he’ll help you.”

I got hugs from both Blackwall and Bull before they were pushed roughly aside and I was swept into the arms of Hellen Adaar.

“You insufferable, overly clever asshole,” she ranted happily as she gave me a crushing sort of hug. “Making your own team for the Arbor Wilds! Threatening to Fade-Step in if we didn’t let you go! I’d be impressed if it wasn’t my back you were sneaking behind.”

“I’m doing it to save you from a threat I can’t make you understand, Hellen.”

“That’s what Josie said,” she replied with a sigh as she set me down. “I’m not going to fight you. I assume you’ve been training?”

I nodded. “The Chargers have been helping.”

She canted a glance at Bull, who put his hands up and backed away. “Blame their _mom_ , not me. I was with you, Boss.”

I was still giggling several minutes later as the last horse trotted through the gate, its rider having set his men to rights in the encampment before coming the rest of the way into the keep. Hellen and the Iron Bull faded into the background and I took two steps towards the warhorse.

Korth ducked his head and nosed me in the chest, and I put my hands up to scratch under his bridle while Cullen wearily dropped to the ground. One of Dennett’s lads ran over to lead the beast away, and Cullen stripped the saddlebags from Korth’s withers and his slung shield from the saddlehorn before turning and extending an arm to me.

I stepped to his side as he wrapped one arm around my waist and laid his cheek on the top of my head. I felt him take a long, steadying breath, and I threaded my fingers through the buckles on the side of his breastplate.

“Welcome home,” I whispered.

“I didn’t get to Maddox in time,” he replied.

I winced. “I heard. I’m sorry to have given you false hope with the antidote.”

“Better to think I had hope, going through that nightmare, than to be stalking through looking for his corpse.”

“Are you alright?” I asked, and tugged him gently into motion, heading towards our apartment.

“I’m tired,” he answered. “We missed Samson, like you said, but he knew I was coming. Left me a taunt… but you know that, too, right?”

I nodded. “Did you get Maddox’s tools?”

“We did,” he sighed. “And everything else that looked like it might be useful in getting ahead of this plague of red lyrium. Hellen wrote ahead to Leliana and Dagna, warning them to expect it. We’ll leave for the Arbor Wilds as soon as Dagna has figured out how to break Samson out of his armor.”

“And until then?” I prompted.

Cullen’s arm tightened around me. “Hellen gave us all tomorrow off. Lieutenant Chambreterre can run the keep for one more day. The next day I’ll put everyone on standby for marching orders, and we’ll be able to leave on a few hours’ notice.”

“And until then?” I prompted again, smiling.

“Dorian had _by the Void_ better be out of our bathroom,” he replied.

As if on cue, a much cleaner Dorian ran past us, heading the opposite direction. “See you in the morning, loves!”

“Good night, Dorian,” I called back. Cullen, for his part, was blushing lightly.

“Dorian implied he knew about the phylactery,” I told Cullen as we pushed open the door at the base of the tower that would lead up into our apartment on the top floors.

“Well. You didn’t exactly make it easy for me to ignore your voice in my ear. Honestly, woman, some of the things you come up with…”

“Are you complaining?” I laughed as we reached the door at the top of the stairs.

Cullen shook his head as he tripped the latch, and I danced through the doorway ahead of him. He dropped his saddlebags on the floor by the door and threw the bolt, his hands going to the buckles on his armor reflexively. I darted up the stairs to pour a bath in the largest of the casks.

Cullen was out of his armor and up the stairs as I dropped the rune into the tub, and his arms wound around my waist from behind.

“I missed you,” he breathed against my neck. “As torturous as your wicked suggestions in my ear in the dead of night might have been, they kept my mind focused on _coming home_ rather than dwelling on _being away_. So, no, I am not complaining.”

“But you fully intend to make an honest woman of me.”

“To put it mildly, yes. Yes I do.”

 

*

 

We had the next day off, as promised, although Hellen and Dorian both appeared at our door at our scheduled bath time.

Cullen sat at my desk and read while the three of us languished the tubs, and as soon as they left I was swept up and taken right back to bed.

We should have been working. We should have been with the soldiers, or in the infirmary, or in the war room. There were a hundred of things to do and every heartbeat was a reminder that _time was running out_.

Somehow, I managed to bury the thought and just give myself this day, this one amazing lazy perfect day. We were in and out of bed throughout the afternoon, but we were just as likely to be lounging on the couch and talking, as we were to be naked and entangled.

We had a war room meeting scheduled for dawn on the next day. We had plans to finalize and bags to pack.

But I had ten days’ worth of whispered promises to keep, and I lived up to them all.

 

*

 

“Our scouts have identified the ruins of a temple, deep in the Arbor Wilds, where all Venatori activity seems to be centered,” Leliana announced to open the war council.

“And we are quite sure this is the actual location of the eluvian?” Morrigan asked with the barest civility.

Leliana looked pointedly at me.

“It is the ruins of a Temple to Mythal,” I said, carefully addressing Leliana rather than willfully provoking Morrigan. “They likely have been unable, as yet, to enter. They won’t break through the latent defenses until Corypheus himself arrives to force entry.”

“Defenses?” Cullen asked, leaning forward. “What sorts of defenses?”

“Magical, mostly,” I answered. “There is a clan of elves who have long lived in the Temple and will fight to the death to defend it. They will hold the Venatori back until the Elder One arrives.”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Hellen observed coolly. “Will we be able to ally with the natives?”

“It is possible,” I granted. “It is a large part of the reason I must insist on Merrill being present, and Solas would be a large help as well. Leliana could encourage her scouts to only defend against the elves there, back down from all attacks, and hopefully they will note the lack of offense. They will not differentiate between our forces and the Venatori, however, so some losses are inevitable.”

“The scouts have made no mention of the area being inhabited,” Leliana countered, “but I have learned my lesson in doubting you. If we have not seen them, it is evidence of their superior skill and not their absence.”

“Thank you, Leliana.”

“Will wonders never cease?” Morrigan asked rhetorically. “Sister Nightingale, taking a leap on blind faith?”

Hellen’s mouth opened angrily, and for the first time I could see my presence causing a negative turn of events in Thedas. Morrigan not working with the Inquisitor and her council wouldn’t be utterly devastating in the immediate future – not with my plans for Merrill – but I had no way of knowing how this would play out in the future.

There had to be a reason Morrigan was the ongoing narrator for the story. Granted, that reason could be the pleasant attitude of the voice actor, but it could be something else, something deeper, something that could bite us in the ass five or ten years down the road.

So before Hellen could let loose her temper, I stepped between the Inquisitor and the Witch.

“Leliana has always been known for her faith. She joined with Solona on the strength of her vision. She was brought to Divine Justinia’s side because her faith made her reliable. And she trusts me now because her faith in me has been _earned_. You cannot know the year we have had, and I do not begrudge you your cynicism. I expect it, honestly. You have no reason to accept anything with no strings attached, not even a mother’s love.”

Morrigan’s eyes hardened, which I honestly hadn’t thought possible.

“But if you think for one moment that Leliana did not fight me tooth and nail for _months_ when first I arrived, then you are a fool. You are many things, Morrigan, but _fool_ has never been one of them. And when I tell you that I am doing you a _massive_ favor by interfering with the natural progression of the Inquisition march on the Venatori in the Dales, I mean it as a monumental understatement.”

“Do not presume-“ Morrigan started, but I talked right over her.

“ _You_ should not presume to walk into the Inquisition and know what is and is not known to its advisors. Closing your mind is the greatest sin you can commit, and the one you most commonly accuse the Chantry, the Circles, the _templars_ , of committing. You are not a hypocrite any more than you are a fool. I will not ask you to trust me, but you should not blindly dismiss me, either.”

Morrigan blinked slowly, but otherwise did not respond.

It was better than it could have been, and so I stepped back and gestured for Hellen to continue.

She was still pissed, but she nodded grimly and soldiered through it.

Josephine reported on the allies she had lined up to assist both along the route and in the Arbor Wilds. Celene herself was leading the Orlesian forces, as a show of support for an Inquisition offensive in her lands, much appreciated after the dubious legality of our march on Adamant.

Cullen had detailed descriptions of his supply lines, proposed route for the march including available fortifications, potential routes for retreat and his official recommendations for each based on all relative pros and cons. Hellen seemed to want every ounce of information he could give her, and we spent much of the meeting bent over the table laying out strategies across the map.

“And you,” Hellen said when it seemed everything was settled, turning to me. “I have been informed of your intention of infiltrating the Temple with a second team consisting of Garrett, Merrill, and Anders.”

“I don’t necessarily agree with the terms you use,” I laughed, “as I’m not really intending any secondary infiltration. My intent was to enter the Temple _with you_ and have Hawke and his team focused on keeping my ass alive.”

“Why?” Hellen asked, flatly.

“You have to make a decision in that Temple,” I answered, pretending for a moment that Hellen and I were alone in the room. “It is something I cannot possibly hope to explain in a way that you’ll understand without the things you are going to see between now and then. Your worldview is going to change, beginning in the Temple to Mythal.“

“Beginning?” Hellen prodded.

I nodded. “Beginning. Everything you think you know is about to change, and I am going to help you through it. But I can’t help you from here.”

“You can’t tell me what I need to know before I leave?”

I shook my head. “Would you have believed me before leaving for Adamant if I had told you that you would leave an ally behind in the Fade to die?”

Hellen snorted. “No. But to be fair, I didn’t.”

“No? And why didn’t you?”

She smiled slightly. “Because you intervened, via Solas. I see your point.”

I smiled back. “I’m coming with you to throw a wrench in the works, I admit. Solas taught me that I can change the future I fear. Nothing has bitten me in the ass yet – quite the contrary, really. It greatly reduces my ability to predict the future once this whole mess is over, but I’m trying to do my best for all the individuals involved, without risking the Inquisition as a whole.”

“So this woman,” Morrigan’s voice cut in, reminding me of the presence of others, “merely tells you that something must happen, but that you cannot know, and you must merely trust her to lead you correctly, and you timidly follow along? This is the mighty Inquisition?”

“Do you know how Gwen came into our world?” Hellen asked before I could attempt a reply.

“I have heard the tale-“

“No. Do you know where and how and when she physically entered Thedas?”

Morrigan merely raised an imperious eyebrow.

“I had just returned through a portal to the future,” Hellen told her, the calm in her voice frightening me more than her anger ever had. “I had lived through an experience most people cannot fathom. And as I picked up the man responsible for the spell that damaged time, and I _ripped him in half_ , he opened another portal to try to save himself. Through that swirling rift in the air, barely out of arm’s reach, I got a glance into a world so alien as to be unrecognizable. There was nothing in that room that I could put a name to, with a riot of color and shapes that I have no way to describe. Out of that portal dropped a woman in clothes unlike any we wear, made from materials we cannot reproduce, bearing knowledge she could not logically possess. I watched her fall out of the air and land at my feet. I lifted her in my arms and I carried her to Haven, tended to her wounds, kept her alive. And the first thing she said to me when she woke up was a warning of an attack, and advice on how to minimize our losses. She ran into the infirmary and started helping our sick and injured with methods and knowledge beyond what any of our healers had seen. And when I fell in Haven’s defense, she knew precisely where I had found shelter, how I had escaped the Elder One, and how I would find my way back to her.”

There was something about the way she phrased that – how she would find her way back _to me_ – that brought a tear to my eye. I heard Cassandra make an odd sort of gasp and I realized the Seeker had _sniffled_. Leliana heard it too, and barely managed to stifle a laugh. Hellen ignored us all.

“I don’t expect you to believe Gwen. I don’t expect you to take everything she says as simple fact. I _do_ , however, expect you to respect the position she has _earned_ in this room, at this table, and in my life. If you cannot respect _my_ decision to trust her, then you cannot respect me. I’m confident Josephine would explain your position to Celene when we see her in the Arbor Wilds and encourage her to show leniency in your abject failure as her attaché.”

“I see,” Morrigan replied after a moment. “I will… moderate… my objections in the future.”

“How nice,” Hellen replied, and I choked as I tried not to laugh.

“Anything else to add, Gwennie love?” Hellen asked me.

“Corypheus and his dragon will both be present at some point,” I advised. “Everything he’s got left, he’ll throw at us. He’s running out of options, and he doesn’t have to keep anything in reserve.”

“Duly noted,” Cullen grunted. Hellen gave us both a sharp nod, and adjourned the meeting.

“My lady… Herald…” Morrigan said as I headed for the door. I paused and glanced over my shoulder at her. “A word, if we may?”

“Of course,” I said. Hellen nodded at the door, and I got the message that she would be waiting just outside.

We waited for the room to clear and then stood across the broad war table from each other.

“Enough of this posturing,” she said when the door closed with a subtle _boom_. “You and I both know-“

“We are alone in here, Morrigan,” I cut her off. “The room is sound proofed. Anything we say will not go beyond you and I.”

“Precisely my point.”

“Then understand me when I say this. I am going to do you a favor of such monumental proportions that you will never find the words to thank me. And I want you to know, right now, that I will _never_ call that favor in.”

“Surely you cannot believe I will-“

“You have been running from slavery your entire life,” I told her, and her jaw clicked shut. “You were raised for a specific purpose that you _denied_ and when Kieren was conceived you took him and fled to save him from that same purpose. You are running directly into that slavery right now, and you can’t see it. You cannot even fathom it. But I know how to save you from it, and _I am going to_.”

“She cannot find me,” Morrigan argued weakly, clearly upset.

“Yet,” I countered. “You are on a collision course with your mother and you do not have the knowledge you need to see it coming.”

“Kieren-“

“Is safe,” I immediately assured her. “Neither myself nor Fiona would let anything happen to that boy.”

“You?” she whispered. “What interest could you have in my son?”

“He is your son,” I answered. “Regardless of his conception, regardless of who or what else might color his soul, he is a child. He is an innocent. And he has done more to humanize you than a thousand years with Solona Amell could hope to.”

“Alistair told you.”

“I told Alistair, to make him believe me, immediately after I told Fiona she needed to have a conversation with her son, as I could not guarantee his survival in Adamant. I do not expect you to believe me, but I am a little disappointed that you would think, for even a moment, that Alistair would give up _that_ secret. That threatens far more than you and him. He would not willingly reveal Kieran as a Theirin, nor would he risk any censure on Solona should the truth of the arch demon’s defeat become known to _anyone_ within the Wardens. You know him better than that.”

She gently shut her eyes and then nodded. “You… you’re right. In ten years he has told no one, and even then… he would not tell Fiona, and gave me the choice of whether or not to inform her. We did not ever actually speak the words, but yet I am confident she knows. She saw enough of herself, of Maric, in Kieran’s face.”

It was hard to find anything to say to that, and we stood silent for a long moment, watching each other solemnly over the war table.

“Is it possible for you to believe, if nothing else, that I mean you no harm?”

Morrigan’s expression softened, and she nodded. “I can believe that, yes.”

“Let us leave it at that, then, shall we?”

She gestured for me to proceed out the war room, and upon opening the door we found Hellen leaning nonchalantly against Josephine’s desk.

“I forgot to tell you,” she said, as if we didn’t all know exactly why she had actually waited for us, “tomorrow is First Day. We’re going to celebrate the holiday, together, in Skyhold, and leave for the Arbor Wilds the next morning.”

“Pausing for ceremony?” I asked with a smile.

“Pausing for a celebration,” Hellen corrected. “If this is to be the year the world ends, we should give the last year its due.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The joke (as told by my grandmother):  
> Three Southern Ladies were having a conversation over sweet tea.  
> The 1st Southern Lady says, "This year? For Christmas? My husband gave me this diamond necklace."  
> The 2nd Southern Lady says, "I do declare!" While the 3rd Southern Lady replies, "How nice!"  
> The 2nd SL says, "This year? For Christmas? My husband bought me a Cadillac."  
> The 1st SL says, "Oh, my word!" While the 3rd SL replies, "How nice!"  
> The 3rd SL reports, "This year? For Christmas? My husband sent me to Finishin' School."  
> The 1st SL asks, "Finishin' School? Pray tell, what could that be?"  
> The 3rd SL replies, "At Finishin' School? They teach you to say _how nice_ instead of _fuck you_."
> 
> Of course Gwen told Hellen the joke.


	59. Pt III Ch 11: The March

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you see the First Day party? I posted it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5521874/chapters/14483752).

The day of our march to the Arbor Wilds found me, much like the day we left for Halamshiral, stumbling out of the apartment in Cullen’s wake, half-asleep in the hour before dawn. Unlike Halamshiral, I bore my own saddlebags, was assigned my own damn horse, and I knew exactly what the hell I was doing. I received my lovely little mare from one of the stable hands. He said he didn’t know her name, but I didn’t care. She was the precise color of raw honey, and I told her that was her new name.

“Honey, that alright?” I cooed.

She tossed her head and then pressed her nose into my shoulder. I had a pocketful of sugar lumps and we were off to a strong start.

“How are you this cheerful?” Twitch groaned, and it took me a moment to pinpoint the source of his voice. He was clinging to the stirrup on the right side of my newly acquired horse.

“Because I wasn’t teaching the Chargers how to keg stand last night. Idiot.” He’d spoken in English and I’d replied in kind.

“Ugh, God, that memory of Rocky upside down on the bar actually happened?”

“It definitely did. And why are you awake?  I thought the Chargers were responsible for Skyhold while we were gone.”

“Us and the wardens and a chunk of the mages, yeah.”

“Sooooo?”

“I wanted to see you off, okay?”

I ducked under Honey’s neck and placed a hand to Twitch’s back. He was still clinging to the stirrup as if it was the only thing keeping him off the ground. “Is everything okay?”

“You’re going to war, Gwen,” he told me, with a sort of desperation in his voice. “I was supposed to keep you alive. How can I do that when I’m here and you’re there?”

“Twitch,” I started, and then paused. “Will.” He went still beneath my hand. “She tasked you with making sure I was accepted into the Inquisition. Obviously we are all vulnerable here, like what happened to Jacqueline and Michael, and she did something different with you and I to make sure we made it through safely. You’ve already done what you promised her, William. You’ve already fulfilled your part of the deal.”

He gave a shuddering sort of sigh and twisted his head around to look at me. “You think that?”

I nodded. “Do you ever… I don’t know, just _know_ things?”

“Gut feelings? Yeah.”

“I knew, somehow, that Patrick was dead. I knew that Cullen was alright when he sent me running away from those undead in the basement. And I know that you’ve done what you were supposed to do. There’s nothing else you can do for me – not in that sense. Now you’re my friend, the one person here who knows I was actually a giant fucking dork, and the only one who will laugh when I reference some random pop culture bullshit from back home. But none of that is an obligation. You’re free to live your life as you choose.”

“And you just know all that?”

I nodded again, confident in my answer. “Yeah.”

“Were you ever like this back home?”

The question gave me pause. “Actually… no. No, I don’t think so. I was a lot more spastic back home.”

Twitch nodded. “I wondered if She didn’t do something to you. Fuck with you somehow to make you something different. The whole Fade weirdness they talked about, how you had to stay away from the rifts… none of that applied to me. You’ve got to be something more.”

“I guess so.”

“Which means you have to be more careful than the rest of us,” he said, straightening. He was still wobbling a bit, but the conversation seemed to steady him. “We’re all outsiders, but you’re _more_ and this running into a war zone-“

“You don’t know the story I’m trying to change here.”

“No. I don’t. But are you sure you’re supposed to?”

“My _being_ here changed the story,” I countered. “It is impossible for me to keep things the same.”

Twitch grunted. “That’s fair, I suppose. Since She fucked with you, made you something more, you get to be the one to play God.”

I shook my head. “I’m not playing God, Will, I’m-“

“It’s Twitch, now,” he interrupted. “I’m going to take what you said as the simple truth. I’d be an idiot not to. If my obligation is fulfilled… then I can let go of the me that answered to that other name. I’m a Charger, Gwen. My name is Twitch.”

“Twitch,” I corrected myself. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just… I don’t want you to think I’m playing God. I’m trying to prevent bad things from happening, trying to keep this world we’ve adopted as our own from going down the shitter like our last one did.”

“That sounds like playing God to me,” he replied softly. “But, if we’re being honest, I’m glad the person doing it is you. I don’t know what our God was doing when he let the world go to hell. I’ve got more faith in you.”

The weight of his words settled on my shoulders and I could feel the blood drain from my face. He pushed back from Honey’s side and clapped a hand to my shoulder as he took her first steps away.

“Good luck, ma,” he said, more loudly, in Common. “First drink’s on me when you get home.”

I stood there, my hand on Honey’s bridle, my heart in my shoes, and watched him disappear in the growing melee in the courtyard.

“Gwen!” Cassandra called from somewhere nearby, breaking my reverie. “Come, we have been looking for you. It is time to go.”

I shook myself, slipped my hand to the reins, and gently tugged on Honey to follow me as I wandered through the crowd in search of the Seeker. I found her with my Kirkwall Crew, pulling herself onto her mount to sit evenly with Hawke, Merrill, Varric and Anders. “You are riding with us,” she told me. “Cullen must see to the army during the march.”

“Yes ser,” I answered, and pulled myself into the saddle. “Lead away.”

 

*

 

It was a six day trip to the Arbor Wilds. We could have made it faster, since Cullen had well-established supply lines and Josephine’s alliances provided us with more fortifications and provisions than we had anticipated. It was the dead of winter, however, and the bulk of the army was on foot. Extra time was taken to light fires at midday when we stopped, checks were done twice daily for frostbite and exposure, and the horses were given extra rations and attention to stave off the cold.

I barely saw the Commander as we traveled. I worked long hours with the medical team, making sure everyone was staying warm and healthy on the road. Cullen was constantly checking his supply lines, circulating his forward and rear scouts, and conferring with Leliana about the progress in the Dales with her own teams. On the rare occasions that we crossed paths during the day, he would extend a hand to me, and for just half a second I would take it and hold it tight. At night we yet shared a tent – a foregone conclusion at this point – but we dropped, exhausted, into bed as soon as possible, and dressed and went straight back to work in the morning. Cullen didn’t seem content with my being there, but he was definitely resolved to its inevitability.

The encampment in the Arbor Wilds was already firmly established when we arrived, Celene and a handful of Orlesian nobility having assisted Leliana’s scouts in securing the area and laid out perimeters for the Inquisition forces to fill. We arrived late in the afternoon on the eighth day of Wintermarch, and quickly filled the waiting fortifications. We met in Celene’s command tent that night and planned to begin moving on the Temple the next morning.

“Take Cole,” Hellen told me as the meeting adjourned. “I know you’ve been training with Hawke, but I can’t think of a single negative to you having Cole with you, and he’ll do more than anyone other than Cullen or myself to keep you safe. It will make a lot of people feel better if he’s with you.”

“I’ll tell Hawke,” I assured her, and she clapped my hand on my shoulder and strode off to finish preparations of her own.

I met with Hawke almost immediately, as we were heading into the apothecary stores at the same time. “Hellen is assigning Cole to our group,” I told him without preamble.

Hawke shrugged. “Shouldn’t change much. It’s a good call. All the rest of the plans stayed the same?”

I nodded. “Same rendezvous, same time frame, same route.”

“Alright. Let’s get you outfitted.”

We took our time digging through the storage crates, arguing the merits of various potions and flasks. I insisted nobody needed to waste space with lyrium potions while I was around, while Hawke contended that they should plan for the worst.

“If the Fade-weirdness is an aspect of my existence, you should be able to use me as a siphon even if I’m dead,” I countered.

“You’d better fucking hope not, or your eventual corpse will end up a relic in the Black Emporium.”

“Is that really a thing?” I squeaked, happily. “Can we go? I want to meet the Antiquarian!”

“You’re sick, kid,” Hawke laughed. “Sick. He’ll throw your Perky ass into a jar in five seconds flat.”

“Could he do that? I mean, he doesn’t move, does he?”

Hawke merely shuddered. “Can we not talk about him? Fucker’s creepy.”

I sniffed. “Spoilsport.”

“We’re taking lyrium,” he replied, turning the conversation back to the present.

In the end, we agreed that the mages should take only two lyrium potions apiece, loading up the rest of their pack space with healing and restorative potions to free up Anders to commit to more destructive pursuits. Anything that would give a defensive edge was tucked into what free space we had in our packs, since we were relying more on stealth than sheer force.

“Dagna got you something better to wear than cold weather leathers, right?”

I nodded happily. “I might look like Merrill, though.”

“There are worse ways to look,” he replied with a wink.

We were laughing as we emerged into the cold, cloudless night air. “Meet you behind Celene’s tent at dawn, Perky.”

“Thanks, Hawke. See you there.”

I made my way to the tent assigned to the Commander, not really caring if there was a place somewhere else intended for me to sleep. I saw my packs laid beside Cullen’s on the floor beside a pile of blankets and bedrolls, so I busied myself in creating our bed for the night.

I had my armor laid out for the next day and was just beginning to strip out of my cold weather gear to get what sleep I could when Cullen ducked under the tent flap.

“Whatever it is,” I said, glancing up to see he had _business_ written all over his face, “it can wait until we’re getting suited up in the morning. For now, sleep.”

He tried to argue twice and I overruled both times, until he grudgingly started stripping out of his armor.

I was settled in the bedding – and shivering violently – when he tugged his shirt off over his head and kicked his pants into the corner. I tried not to look shocked as his skin steamed in the frigid air of the tent. It was _way_ too cold for him to sleep naked, with me in bed with him or not.

“I have tried talking you out of this,” he said as he slid into the chilled bedding and pulled me against him. “I tried reasoning with you. I tried appealing to Hellen. I am out of options but this.”

“And what is this?” I breathed as his hands followed the seams of my shift and set my heartbeat racing.

“This is my last ditch effort. I intend to exhaust you so thoroughly that you sleep through your meeting with Hawke in the morning and stay here, asleep, through the battle.”

“I don’t think that will work,” I breathed, twining my fingers through his hair, “but, my all means, _please_ give it your best shot.”

 

*

 

“Go back to sleep,” Cullen whispered as he slid out of our bedding the morning of the assault on the Arbor Wilds.

“Asshole,” I laughed, flailing my way out of the blankets as he worked to tuck me in. “Your wonderful scheme has failed.”

“You cannot fault a man for trying,” he replied, and I was saddened to hear a complete lack of humor in his tone.

“Cullen-“

“If he gets his hands on you, if he takes you from me, I will at least have last night to remember you by,” Cullen solemnly informed me, as he methodically dressed and began the ritual of donning his armor. There was absolutely nothing I could say to that, so I remained silent and rose from our bed.

I mimicked his actions, strapping myself into the layers of leather Dagna had painstakingly crafted for me. I was buckling the last of the straps reinforcing my knee-high boots when Cullen finished his own preparations and turned to say something to me.

Whatever he had meant to tell me was lost. His jaw dropped and he stood, staring, as I tightened down the buckle and straightened up to meet his gaze.

“Dagna said this has been runed to the point of repelling darkspawn blood,” I told him, settling my hands on my hips as I resolutely stared him down. “We spent three days on the fitting alone, so there were no gaps, no pinches, and nothing that could pull loose and betray me with a sound. The buckles are hardened resin, there’s no metal anywhere to gleam or rattle. The heels of the boots are completely covered with runes that repel soil, to keep my footsteps from leaving tracks. It is the closest Dagna can come to making me untrackable, invisible, and utterly immune to the taint of red lyrium and darkspawn.”

Cullen nodded, closing his jaw and swallowing thickly.

“Think me wrong, Cullen, but don’t think me reckless.”

“Oh, I definitely think you’re wrong,” he said, rubbing his neck but gifting me a brief smile. “But this whole travesty is almost worth it, to see you dressed like that.”

I gave him a little spin. The armor was incredibly well fitted, and I would have been embarrassed at the way it clung to my curves if it wasn’t _very clearly_ armor of the highest quality. There was nothing flashy or ornamental anywhere on my body, excluding the pendant on my neck, hidden beneath reinforced dragon scales.

“Kiss me for luck,” I ordered, and he strode across the tent with alacrity to sweep me up into his arms.

“Maker, _please_ , keep you safe.”

“Andraste guide your path,” I replied.

He set me down with a shiver. “Any warnings about today, lady Seeress?”

I smiled sadly. “Just one thing: Corypheus will leave the ruins empty handed, we hope, and then you will be able to secure the Temple. If you can’t find Hellen – find _us_ – it is because we have gone into the eluvian.”

Cullen nodded slowly. “So you’ve always known you have a means of escaping the Temple if you get boxed in by the Venatori.”

“We should find our way to Morrigan’s eluvian in Skyhold, although the exact timing is dubious.”

“When isn’t it, with you?” he laughed.

It was the last sound either of us made, and it rang in my ears as we ducked out of the tent hand-in-hand. With one last brief squeeze of his fingers, I turned to make my way to the meeting with Hawke, as Cullen strode off to muster his forces.

Cole was waiting with the three mages when I arrived at the corner of the tent, just as the first rays of sunlight appeared on the horizon. “Good morning, ma,” Cole quipped, in a perfect impersonation of Krem, and we all laughed.

“Maker, look at you,” Hawke breathed.

Anders seemed to be having a hard time keeping his eyes in his head, while Merrill practically oozed with appreciation for the Dalish feel of my armor. “I should have Dagna make me a set!”

“Yes,” Hawke answered immediately. “Yes, by all means.”

Cole took my hand and tugged, and we set out.

 


	60. Pt III Ch 12: Wells of Sorrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes do their business in the Arbor Wilds and the Temple to Mythal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shuffled the chapter breaks a bit from where I originally intended to put them. This was meant to end about 2/3 of the way down... I left the asterisk and chapter-break-phrasing as it was, so you can see how evil I meant to be. We're getting down to the end, though, so don't expect me to pull any more punches. :-D

The point was to leave without anyone seeing us go, and we seemed to accomplish that goal, within reason. We didn’t try to hide from our own scouts or forces, but none of them had reason to stop us from leaving and we proceeded unmolested.

Within minutes we were deep into the chilled evergreen forests of the Arbor Wilds.

It was an hour before we heard anything beside the natural sounds of the forest, since we were intentionally taking the long route around the army’s path. The sounds of fighting – the clash of metal on metal, roars of the warriors, screams of the dying – seemed distant and distorted by the thick woods. Cole was able to unflinchingly point to the direction of the nearest combatants – he was more human now, but still definitely bore spirit roots – and we stayed clear of any conflicts until well nearly midday.

“Templars. Red. Four.” Cole said, pointing directly ahead of us as he dropped into a crouch.

“Any way around?” Hawke hissed.

Cole shook his head and vanished.

Hawke unslung his staff from his back, Merrill and Anders following suit. They fell into a rough triangle around me, and I shifted my consciousness so I straddled the fade.

“Six inches to your right,” I muttered to Merrill.

“What? Oh. Right,” she said, stepping daintily into my aura.

“Let me know if you get tired,” I reminded them, needlessly.

There was a muffled shout and then a clatter, and then three Templars burst out of the woods some thirty paces away.

I had seen them cast; Anders was Circle-trained but a rogue at heart, a runaway and an abomination. Hawke and Merrill were true apostates, blood mages, born Templar killers. The three of them played with magic the way few mages dared, confident in their abilities and comfortable with their limits. They had sat on the roof of my tower playing target practice with bolts from Varric’s crossbow. I knew what magic looked like with my Fade sight, knew what it felt like as they drew energy from my aura and melded it into form, wielded the aethyr like artisans.

But I had never seen Hawke summon a flame so hot it melted a templar’s armor into a seamless, molten coffin.

I had never seen Merrill fire a bolt of concentrated toxin so potent it dissolved the flesh in seconds, leaving a man’s bones to rattle in his suddenly-empty armor as it clattered to the ground.

I had never seen Anders freeze a man where he stood, the templar’s face going black with frostbite as it was covered with a hoary film. The man – armor and all – shattered into a trillion glimmering motes as Cole appeared out of nowhere, driving the pommels of both daggers into the red templar’s shoulders from behind.

“Good little fight,” Hawke said smugly, tossing his staff back onto his back. “The fourth was yours, as well, I assume,” he addressed Cole.

Cole nodded, gesturing towards where the other three had emerged from the woods. “The path actually leads off a bit that way,” he noted calmly, indicating an opening in the brush to the group’s left.

“Lovely, let’s go,” Hawke replied. I tried to take a step to follow and my body just wasn't responding right. I leaned forward but didn't move, and so settled back on my heels and took a deep, centering breath.

“Wait for Gwen,” Merrill coached him softly, and the natural leader of the party paused and managed to look abashed.

“Sorry. Forgot you’re not used to this,” he quipped.

“What are you thinking?” Anders asked softly from his place a step to my right and slightly behind. Merrill turned at my left to face me and Hawke pivoted on his heel from his place at point.

“Sorry not sorry,” Cole summarized, and I managed to swim out of my shock to smile at him.

“Is that something you hear or something you know?” I asked.

“Know,” Cole answered, with a childlike grin completely at odds with his actions as he took out a thin strip of cloth from a pack at his hip that seemed full of bits of rags, and wiped the fresh blood from his daggers.

“Seems healthy,” Anders diagnosed with a brief nod.

“Yeah, they’re red Templars. They’re not… even human anymore, not really. And I remember the day in the courtyard, Garrett… pulling the archer apart. I just… I haven’t seen this sort of brutal efficiency in killing people with magic before.”

“They’re right to fear us,” Merrill said with a shrug.

Garrett nodded his agreement. “We’re kind of badasses.”

I snorted a laugh and Hawke, now convinced I was fine, led the way to the path Cole indicated. I followed, and if it took a bit for my pace to match what it had been before, nobody saw reason to comment.

We started passing more groups of red Templars after that point, as all paths converged on the Temple. We managed to avoid all other forms of enemy, not seeing hide nor hair of any Venatori, corrupted Wardens, corrupted Giants, or even any Temple elves. We always sought to go around, not wanting to give solid evidence of our passage by leaving a trail of bodies in our wake, but twice more we were better suited to fight than flight and I gently funneled Fade energy into the three mages as they utterly decimated anything in their path.

It was an hour or so part midday – the sun hidden by a thousand layers of foliage above us – when the ragged roofline of the ancient Temple appeared through the trees. The sounds of battle filtered through the forest from all directions, getting louder by the second.

“We’re meeting near the entrance to the Temple,” I reminded Hawke, and as he nodded I sent Cole out to find the bridge from my memory. He returned within minutes, having guessed the correct direction and found the rendezvous point without much effort. We crept through the scattered boulders and broken statuary that littered the forest floor, evidence of the decay of the ages.

And, I thought a bit wryly, evidence of the cataclysm that brought about the end of the elvhen empire. Fucking Solas.

“Templar,” Cole said, coming to a sudden halt and pointing at the trees we’d just emerged from. He frowned and cocked his head. “Warden? Warden who thinks like a Templar,” he decided at last, falling into a more relaxed stance.

I straightened up from the defensive crouch we’d all dropped into at Cole’s initial warning.

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered as the man in question slipped from the trees to stand comfortably beside us.

“Do you have any idea how hard you are to track through the woods?” Alistair asked me, with a clear tone of compliment in his voice. “I wasn’t even sure it was you I was following, except for the red Templars you wrecked.”

“What the _bloody fuck_ are you doing here?” I demanded. “You’re supposed to be overseeing the defense of Skyhold!”

Alistair grinned at me. “I survived Adamant just fine, didn’t I? You made me stay behind at Halamshiral; you didn’t really think I would sit _this one_ out, too, did you?”

I clenched my fists and _shook_ , struggling to find words for my rage. “Corypheus can _possess Grey Wardens_ , you infuriating _twat_. He can put on your body like a new suit! I had you stay behind for a _reason_. The same _fucking_ reason I told Leliana to keep Solona _away from us_. If he knows we have an _actual_ Grey Warden standing with us that we trust he will possess you!”

I watched the blood run out of his face. “You never-“

“No, I never _said_ , there was no _reason_ to say. But that’s how he survived! How he got out of the prison! He put on a lovely Warden suit after Hawke killed him and just _walked out_. That’s how he got the key to Bartrand’s Folly, he made Bianca think he was a Warden! _God fucking damn it, Alistair_.”

“This sounds suspiciously like the conversation you and Hellen had at the crossroads on the way back from Halamshiral,” Hawke quipped, and I glared at him. “You can’t be mad at him for not knowing something you didn’t tell him."

"The fuck I can't."

"We can’t send him back,” Hawke told me calmly, although there was a strain around his eyes. “The battle’s too chaotic for one man to make it back on his own, no matter _how_ good he is.”

“And since we can’t _take_ you back, you have to come with us,” I gritted. “I swear, Alistair, if you get yourself killed, I am going into the Fade to find you and _kick your ass_.”

The normally-effusive Grey Warden swallowed thickly. “From anyone else, that would be funny.”

“Come on,” I said to Hawke, jerking my chin. The three mages led Cole and I, and our new plus-one, along the tree line to the bridge into the Temple, where we crouched and waited for Hellen and her team to clear the path to the door.

We didn’t have long to wait. Cassandra appeared at the front of the little pack, the three mages (Morrigan and Solas on either side of Hellen) at her heels and the two archers (Varric and Sera) bringing up the rear.

“This is your team composition? You _needed_ another warrior,” Alistair snorted. Anders had Justice call out to Wisdom, bringing Hellen up short, and I stood, taking the opportunity to elbow Alistair in the head.

“Ow,” he complained as Hellen called a halt and her team took up defensive positions so we could join them at the approach to the bridge.

“Did you run into any trouble?” Hellen asked, casting a glance at Alistair. “Besides the obvious?”

I shook my head. “Passed without a trace until this lunatic caught up to us.”

“You in the habit of disobeying orders, Warden?” Hellen asked.

Alistair straightened. “I don’t seem to recall receiving any _orders_ , Inquisitor. The Wardens joined the Inquisition as allies, and _my_ superior officer seems to be silent on the matter.”

As Hellen shook her head ruefully and gestured for us to continue across the bridge, I took her elbow. “Corypheus can _possess_ Wardens,” I told her, and she stumbled a step out of shock. “If you do any reading about the First Blight, Dumat was slain a handful of times but kept coming back. The archdemon can possess any other darkspawn and become an arch demon again – that’s the real reason only a Warden can end a Blight. Only the Wardens have the ability to kill an archdemon and have it _stay dead_.” I could practically _hear_ Alistair eavesdropping on the conversation, but it was rather his right to make sure I wasn’t giving up Warden secrets. “Corypheus is the progenitor of the Blight, one of the original Magisters who brought the Blight to Thedas. He operates like an archdemon – he can recreate himself into any darkspawn and regenerate. Anything containing the Blight is open season for Corypheus – although, with him, _he can possess Wardens too_. The trait Wardens have that allows them to kill archdemons also allows Corypheus to possess their bodies… dead or alive. It’s why I advised you to keep Solona the fuck away from here, and why we left Alistair – and all the Wardens – at home.”

“So he’s dead if Corypheus sees him?” Hellen surmised.

“Corypheus has a few enthralled Wardens of his own,” I replied, “but if he sees the benefit of possessing a Warden the Inquisition trusts…?”

Hellen grunted. “So we’re killing Alistair when we get home.”

“More or less.”

“Hey!”

“Stay in the back,” the Inquisitor told him over her shoulder. “Keep to the Herald; if you’re going to be at risk, make sure you’re selling yourself to keep her alive. Gwen, watch him for signs of possession, since you’ve literally seen Corypheus do it before. Cassandra will back you up, but her main focus has to be the fight.”

Cassandra and I both nodded. Alistair scowled as I fell back to walk with him.

“I will not be possessed,” he muttered under his breath. It seemed only I could hear him.  “I know the Litany of Adralla. I escaped Sloth and the Nightmare. I struck down the archdemon. I am not afraid of some Tevinter prick.”

I nodded. “Keep that mindset. I won’t let him take you if I can help it. He’ll have an easier time with a dead Warden than a feisty one. I hope.”

“You hope?”

“Hey, I told you to stay at home.”

We made it the rest of the way into the Temple in silence, and crept up to the lip of the decaying balcony to watch Abelas’ stand-off with Corypheus at the final bridge.

“Well of Sorrows?” Hellen mouthed to me as Corypheus mentioned it. Morrigan shrugged. I nodded quickly and then peered down at the Elder One.

I hadn’t seen him before.

The game had not done him justice.

He was skeletal, in the truest sense of the word; I could count out the vertebrae in his back where they showed through the gaps in what looked to be Warden armor, haphazardly arrayed around his body. I realized, a bit belatedly, that was exactly it – the armor had been on the body of the Warden he had last possessed and then _stretched_ to the proportions he desired. He looked like a fleshless skeleton because he really sort of _was_.

I was _thrilled_ I couldn’t see his face. The hunks of red lyrium jutting out of his body were bad enough; his face was a guaranteed shitshow.

Abelas was luring Corypheus onto the causeway, and because I knew to watch for it, I saw the twitch of his hand that activated the pillars on either side of the bridge. The Elder One was suddenly enveloped in searing white light, and the Inquisition ducked down simultaneously, instinctively, as both the defenses and the former Magister detonated.

When we got back up, Samson was racing down the causeway on the heels of the elvhen defenders, and there were pieces of Corypheus strewn across the cobblestones.

“Quickly,” I hissed. “Run, now, before he regenerates.”

I didn’t need to tell any of them twice. We were down the steps, around the corner, and halfway across the long bridge when Alistair froze mid-step.

“Go!” I howled at Hellen as she slowed. “Get inside, push the doors so they are nearly closed! I will pull him through if I can!”

“And if you can’t?”

“We’ll lose him,” I called, resolute. Hellen nodded and continued across the bridge, and I turned back to Alistair.

“No,” the Warden spat from between gritted teeth. “No, you will _not_.”

I closed the distance between us, keeping an eye on the pile of parts and pieces – as well as a few intact Warden bodies – on the far end of the causeway we had just run from. With clenched teeth, I put my hands to Alistair’s shoulders, and tried to draw him into my aura, alone.

Corypheus had a hell of a foothold on the Warden. He was there, _everywhere_ , his energy fighting against Alistair’s will.

Until it bumped into mine.

“ _Out_ ,” I demanded, and cast him out of my friend, consciously separating them as I had Wisdom from Pride.

Alistair sagged, and I quickly drew him into my aura. “Litany of Adralla time,” I told him over my shoulder, backing us towards the mostly-shut door of the Temple. “Start chanting, buddy.”

I sensed more than felt his nod as one of his arms snaked around my waist and he led us resolutely backwards. His voice was chanting, syllables that seemed nonsensical but were unspeakably soothing…

So soothing I wasn’t even paying attention when Corypheus launched his next attack.

He battered at me, fighting for access to Alistair.

I bore down, and opened my eyes to the Fade.

I saw nothing, of course. He was incorporeal, atomized; I wouldn’t be able to pick him out of the swirling energies of the Fade, although I was sure he was still there. I suspected he had inhabited the body laying closest to the edge of the causeway, and just not fully committed to it once he felt the living Warden run past.

The connection to the Fade, however, strengthened my defense of Alistair.

“The man said _no_ ,” I chided the forces bouncing against my aura. “Didn’t your mommy teach you anything about consent?”

Alistair snorted a laugh and the attack, suddenly, ceased.

“Keep that _no_ firm in your mind,” I reminded the man at my back. We were maybe twenty paces from the door, and I could see Hellen grimly watching our advance.

“Why is the no so important?” Alistair asked, in a breath of a pause before starting right back up with the Litany.

“A soul is not forced upon the unwilling,” I quoted to him. “Flemeth said that… scratch that. Flemeth _will_ say that at some point, arguably rather soon. Consent is probably a bit dubious with you, since you consented to the Joining.”

Alistair faltered in his recitation. I elbowed him and he dutifully started up again. “I’ll explain once we’re out of-“

The attack, this time, was not aimed at Alistair.

I felt my legs seize up as _the will which is Corypheus_ shot itself directly at my mind.

“NO,” I shouted, and put my hands up, _willing_ him away, pressing back against the forces leveled at me.

“Shit shit shit shit shit,” Alistair panted, lifting me off the ground and _sprinting_ for the door, abandoning the Litany of Adralla in favor of a hasty retreat.

My eyes still opened to the Fade, I saw a Warden’s body stand up on the far end of the causeway. His face stretched and contorted, black blood oozing out of his pores. The corpse slowly lit up, just as mages appeared to in the Fade… this light, however, was the malevolently glowing red of tainted lyrium. The leering apparition that took form chilled my blood. His face was malformed and asymmetrical, with blackened patches of diseased skin peeling off to reveal the broken and splintered bones beneath. Red Lyrium was already forming in all the gaps left by the stretching of his face, and as he stood, elongating the body of the Warden to fit his preferred stature, I could see pops and flashes of red light as lyrium seemed to sprout at stress points.

His fingers elongated, and he pointed at me.

“I need not the Warden,” he intoned as he began to pace down the length of the causeway. As Alistair hauled me through the barely-open doors I could see the blighted lyrium drake appear over the top of the mountain and begin to swoop downward at the door. “I need not the anchor. I need not the well, nor the eluvian. I need only… break… _you_.”

With a roar, Hellen launched a ball of _something_ out of the closing doorway, and I saw Corypheus stagger back clutching his arm. Then the dragon was upon us, the door was slamming shut, and a golden light infused the portal. The invisible attack cut off, seemingly sealed away by the magic on the doors.

“What the fuck just happened?” Hellen demanded, spinning to turn on me.

“Gwen just saved my stupid ass,” Alistair answered immediately. “And in so doing, made herself a target.”

Hellen whirled on him, but before she could say anything the Warden shrugged. “You should have let me die in Adamant.”

Hellen’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click that was almost lost in the whizzing of my arm through the air, as I spun around and backhanded Alistair with as much force as I could muster.

Which was a lot.

The last of the Theirins staggered backwards, and the entire party was shocked silent, giving me a perfect opening to _chew his ass_.

“Aside from Solona killing us all with a thought for letting something happen to you. Aside from the hours I spent _desolate_ thinking I had sent you to your death. Aside from the personal hell Solas lived through to make sure you survived. Aside from the countless hours you have spent since then with your _family_ …” I drew in an angry breath through clenched teeth. “Aside from _all of that_ , when I tell you that _you don’t get off that easy_ it is because you are fundamentally a good man, and someone who is too _fucking_ important to die in any way that doesn’t get him a ridiculously large marble monument in his honor. Nightmare _does not_ get to kill you. Corypheus _does not_ get to wear your body like a suit. And it is a _cold day in hell_ before you get to _ever_ say that sort of _bullshit_ again, _do you hear me_?”

“I hear you,” he answered, dazedly rubbing one hand to his jaw.

“Solona is finding you a cure,” I said as I extended my _incredibly sore_ right hand towards Anders, who healed the rather impressive bruise forming there with a smirk. “And _by god_ you’re going to be around to partake in it.”

“Will she be successful?” Hawke asked, breaking the silence.

I shrugged. “I never knew. But if there’s anything Dagna and I have to say about it, it _will happen_.”

“Focus,” Morrigan called out coolly. “We do not have limitless time. Samson and the Elder One’s forces beat us inside and may already be at the Eluvian.”

“The hole, there,” Hellen said. “They dropped through there.”

“We must-“ Solas began, but Merrill interrupted him, striding off towards the penitent’s path. “This is a Temple to Mythal,” she breathed. “We must approach with respect and due diligence. Come, let us show the attendants we mean no ill.”

I grinned at Hellen and pointed at the rapidly disappearing blood mage. “Told you we needed her along.”

“Alistair better stayed glued to your asshole until we’re back in Skyhold,” Hellen said as she strode off after Merrill.

The Warden wrapped an arm around my waist again and I threaded my fingers under the leather strap of his bracer.

“That hurt, you know.”

“Good,” I grunted.

 

*

 

Merrill seemed able to navigate the puzzles and traps along the proper entrance to the Temple as if it were a child’s game. We walked through without a scratch, without even a conversation. Solas had a sad sort of smile as he walked through, which vanished in a flash of anger when Morrigan commented on the seeming juxtaposition of Fen’Harel and Mythal in the statuary.

Merrill cocked her head to the side, considering the seeming contradiction, when I took one for the team.

“I hate to break it to you, but thousands of years of elven history between the death of Mythal at the hands of the Evanuris and the present day has twisted the story into something unrecognizable. Fen’Harel and Mythal were closer than you can believe.”

I felt the eyes of everyone in the party swivel to lock onto me. I shrugged. “I told you. I know shit that will make your head spin.”

Solas sighed. “Now is not the time for a theological argument.”

Something flashed in Hellen’s eyes, and for a moment I feared she’d heard the layers of remorse and nostalgia hidden in Solas’ simple statement. Instead, she nodded, and put a hand to his shoulder. “You’re right again. Lead on, Merrill.”

“You claim to know the true story of the elven creation myths,” Morrigan stated, not bothering to hide her cynicism.

“Not right now, Morrigan,” I answered. “You will get your answer.”

There was a long hallway in front of us then, and standing between our party and the grand doors of the Temple Proper.

Standing on the steps was Abelas.

I took a step to the left and looped my hand through Morrigan’s belt.

“I beg your pardon,” she complained.

“I am saving you from yourself,” I answered.

She was too busy glaring at me, at my incredible rudeness, to listen to Abelas’ statements and take flight to the eluvian.

In short order, we were following Abelas through to the Well of Sorrows, bypassing the battles between the Ventori and the ancient guardians of the Temple. Quicker than I could believe, we arrived in the center of the Temple, to see Samson emerge from the other side.

I darted towards the Well, planting myself in front of the eluvian as the rest of the Inquisition turned to battle the vessel of the Elder One.

I had no desire to watch Hellen destroy Samson’s armor.

I had no desire to watch my friend fall into a rage and rip a man apart.

I had no desire to watch the team I had grown to love, to consider family more than simply friends, turn into the brutally efficient killing machines they had worked thousands of hours to become.

Neither, it seemed, did Morrigan.

“The Well of Sorrows is the embodiment of the memories of ages,” she breathed, stepping to the edge of the pool, in a daze, as the fight whirled behind her.

“Drinking from the well solidifies you as a slave to Mythal,” I said, pitching my voice to carry over the sounds of carnage. Hellen was screaming again, and the memory of the night in the courtyard in Halamshiral brought an ache to my back and a memory of blood to my fingertips.

“A woman dead thousands of years, as you said before,” Morrigan dismissed me with a flutter of her hand.

“Yes, there’s absolutely no way a spirit that powerful could find a way to survive for millennia,” I snarked, and she froze. “Not even by possessing a woman and being passed down for generations in the bodies of her daughters.”

“What did you just-“

“Listen to me now as you have never listened to me before,” I told her, meeting the sudden fear in her eyes with as much surety as I could will into my own. “This Well, this knowledge, is the _precise_ servitude you have spent your entire life fleeing from. You insist you are a _person_ , and not an empty sack waiting to be filled. I _promise_ you, Morrigan, drinking from this Well would be the ironic sort of ending you will regret until your very last breath.”

She froze, glancing at the Well, and then back to me.

“You’re saying-“

“I’m saying Merrill already bears Vallaslin on her face,” I interrupted, dropping my voice as the sounds of battle abruptly ceased. “She has already born herself into servitude she does not understand. Let it be to Mythal, and not to whomever she unknowingly sold her soul to when she carved those designs on her face.”

Morrigan was shaking visibly, trembling violently, and I stepped to her side and tentatively wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She surprised me by allowing the contact. Anything we might have said was precluded by Hellen striding to the edge of the Well.

“Corypheus will break through,” she announced to Abelas. “How can we keep him from claiming the Well?”

“The Well is the key to the eluvian,” I announced as Abelas refrained from immediately answering. “We must claim it for ourselves.”

The fight erupted then, a three-way battle between Hellen, Solas, and Abelas. Morrigan kept utterly silent, staring at the calm waters as if it was a pool of vile poison.

“Hellen,” I called softly in a moment of silence as they all paused for breath. “Give the Well to Merrill.”

“What?” Merrill breathed, one hand going to her chest. “I can’t-“

“You are the most deserving of anyone here,” I countered.

“This is why you came,” Hellen surmised, the rage still coloring her thoughts and reactions.

I nodded. “You do not want this, Hellen.”

“And Merrill does?” Hawke demanded, striding forward. “You will protect Hellen, protect _Morrigan_ , and give up Merrill as the sacrificial lamb for whatever Fate you intend to keep them from?”

“Whose Vallaslin do you wear, Merrill?” I asked, not breaking eye contact from Hawke.

“Elgar’nan,” Merrill answered at once.

I shot a glance at Solas, who managed to verify without words the poorness of her choice.

“If Merrill is to be enslaved to an Evanuris, it is better to be Mythal than Elgar’nan,” I told Hawke. “She has already sold her soul; this is the closest I can come to redeeming it.”

“Sold… my soul?” Merrill gasped.

“You bear the slave markings of Elgar’nan,” Abelas confirmed coldly. “You have sworn yourself to his servitude, an eternity of slavery should he ever return from his banishment at the hands of Fen’Harel.”

The silence that reverberated around the group was one of abject shock.

“We must destroy Corypheus,” I told them when eyes began to swivel back to lock on me in various states of disbelief and censure. “To do that, we must deny him the Well of Sorrows. We must deny him this eluvian. And we must not tarry any longer. I have always told you that the decisions are ultimately yours, Hellen, but I will die before I let you drink from the Well and promise yourself to Mythal, when we could save Merrill by giving it to her.”

Hellen stepped to the side. “Merrill, do you wish to drink from the Well?”

“You wish me to receive the knowledge of the ages?” Merrill breathed.

“If you want it, it is yours,” Hellen answered.

She glanced to Hawke, whose only response was an open hand, palm up, indicating the choice was hers. With a slow nod, she stepped to the Well of Sorrows, turned to face us, and then backed into the water, eyes locked with Hawke’s.

“Creators,” she gasped, falling to one knee as the waters vaporized and swirled around her, and streamed in through her mouth and nose at her astonished inhale. Her head drooped, and the shaggy locks of her hair swept forward to obscure her face.

It was over in seconds, and Hawke dashed to her side, intent on sweeping her into his arms.

“I am well, vhenan,” she said. When she tipped her head up to smile weakly at Hawke, we saw her Vallaslin had changed.

She now wore the same markings as Abelas, and the rest of the Temple protectors.

Hellen was talking to Abelas, then, discussing his potential for a future within the Inquisition – he refused, which was probably a good thing – but I ignored them. Merrill was walking quickly to the eluvian, her hand firmly in Hawke’s. She touched the surface of the mirror lovingly, and the glass flared with blue light.

As the eluvian came to life, an explosion at the front of the Temple announced Corypheus’ entrance and imminent arrival.

“Morrigan can lead us through to Skyhold,” I called, shifting my hold on the shaken witch to propel her towards the mirror. “We cannot defeat Corypheus like this, not while his dragon carries a piece of his soul.”

They did not argue with me, and instead the entire group surged for the eluvian. Merrill took Morrigan’s hand and helped the daughter of her Mistress through first. I doubted any but myself and Solas noted the honor, but my lethallin and I exchanged amused glances. _If only they knew_.

Hellen stepped through before Merrill turned to me, the green of her eyes seeming to swirl for a moment before putting up a hand to stop me. “You cannot come, Gwen.”

Everyone paused, but another shout from Corypheus put them back into motion. Varric and Sera lept through the portal, Cassandra hot on their heels.

“You cannot enter an eluvian, Gwendolyn,” Merrill told me sadly.

She was right. I didn't know how I knew she was right, but I did. I knew. I didn't give myself a chance to question it, to waver, to panic. I nodded, and focused on evacuating my loved ones.

“Everyone else go, then,” I said. “I will stay here and make my way back with the army.”

That was enough for Anders, who nodded and stepped into the eluvian.

It was  _not_ enough for Cole.

"No," he said, eyes wide, planting himself beside the mirror.

"Cole," I answered, shaking my head. "You have to go."

" _No_."

"Cole. Go."

"No!"

"Cole. Love. Please. Don't make me order you through, it will break my heart. You have to go. I have to know you're okay."

"Gwen. Ma. Mother. Mom. No."

I stepped to him and cupped my hands around his cheeks. "Go. Please. It will help me for you to leave, it will hurt me for you stay."

He wavered, and it was enough. I pressed him gently backwards through the eluvian.

My heart was broken, it had to be. I stepped away and gestured for Alistair to step through.

“Bullshit,” Alistair spit. “You’ll be slain by Corypheus.”

“There is a little boy on the other side of that mirror who is about to get a very nasty shock,” I told him, as I grabbed his arm and walked him to the eluvian. “You have your mother to tend to.  And god help us if we let you die here. I am more afraid of Solona than I ever will be of you, Alistair Theirin. Now get the fuck out of here.”

Alistair scowled, and Hawke shoved him, hard, into the surface of the mirror. With a wink to me, Hawke gestured for Solas to proceed him through.

“I will protect him until your return, lethallan,” Solas assured me, stepping through the eluvian with more ease than any of the others had managed but for Morrigan. I wasn't sure if he meant Cole or Alistair, but I appreciated either gesture.

“Go,” I told Hawke and Merrill.

“It was nice knowing you, Gwennie Murray,” Hawke said, with an eye to the sudden appearance of Corypheus in the doorway, who paused for only a moment before  _charging_ at the eluvian. With a smile of resignation, Garrett clapped a hand to my shoulder in farewell, grasped Merrill, and pitched backward into the eluvian with his arms wrapped around the woman he loved.

I turned to face Corypheus, putting my back to the eluvian and suddenly - belated - realizing I might not survive to travel home with the army.

 

 

*

*

*

 

 

Corypheus was bearing down on me at an impossible rate of speed; only the sheer size of the Temple was buying me any time.

I nonchalantly swept my pitiful little knife from my belt – the Thedosian equivalent of a pocket knife – and jammed it backwards. The mirror shattered, and a shockwave of energy shot up my arm. I dropped the knife as a spasm wracked the limb, and whipped it up to instinctively cradle it against my chest.

I opened my eyes once more to the Fade, and as Corypheus increased his speed as if he intended to go _through_ me into the eluvian, I calmly decided _he would not_.

I lifted my damaged arm, extended my palm towards him, and with a calm I did not feel, softly said, “No.”

Corypheus reacted as if he was a ricocheting bullet, glancing off to the right and coming to an abrupt halt some twenty paces away.

“You fool,” he intoned, his voice dissonant in a way that reminded me immediately of the Raw Fade. “You fumble with-“

“Blah blah blah,” I interrupted him. I was pretty sure I was dead already; Abelas and the elves had beaten a hasty retreat, and I hadn’t been paying attention to which way they went. Corypheus was nearly nine feet tall, enraged by the loss of Samson and the Well, and he was planted quite firmly in between myself and the closest exit. He stiffened at my tone.

“You’re the priest of Dumat. You went into the Fade. You went into the Black City. You were the conductor for the whole ritual. You are mentioned by name in the Chant of Light. _Big Whoop._ You’re a giant bag of douche, and you are _not touching me_.”

I wasn’t worried about him casting magic at me. I would either dodge it, Dagna’s enchanting would protect me, or I would fucking die. Nothing I could do about it unless he did it. But him getting his _hands_ on me was a completely different sort of trouble. He and the dragon could carry me off to unimaginable hells. I couldn’t outrun him. I didn’t know the Temple well enough to hide. And I had absolutely zero means of offense.

I had to _outwill_ him, and hope he needed me captured alive.

Corypheus chuckled, tipping his chin as if to say _aren’t you cute, dumbass_ , and took a step towards me.

I closed my eyes, straightened my shoulders, and _stopped him in his tracks_.

The Elder One’s expression widened in surprise, and he leaned forward, intent.

It took him five minutes to take one step towards me. Five grueling, brutal, horrifying minutes as I focused every ounce of my being on him _staying the fuck away from me_. I latched onto the Fade and drew my strength directly across the Veil, condensing my every thought into one word.

 _No_.

He was beating me, of course. It was costing him more than it was costing me, since I had what he lacked: a direct connection to the Fade. He had a thousand years of practice, and a complete lack of sanity. He didn’t have anything to lose by pouring everything he had into our battle.

I didn’t just have to win.

I had to win _and not lose myself_ in the process.

Self-preservation always costs more than self-destruction.

It took slightly less time for the second step, but it was a near thing. We were both tiring, and tiring fast.

The world reduced down to his hideous fucking face. His skeletal features were twisted into a perpetual grimace, his hands slowly extended, twisting into claws that had five feet of reach and were moving, slowly, inexorably, closer towards me with each passing second. The red lyrium pulsed along his diseased form, and after several minutes I realized it pulsed in time with my heartbeat.

The realization upset me enough that he lurched forward, moving a sudden six inches before I could solidify my will again.

“No!”

It took me far too long to realize I had not thought the word, but that I had _heard_ it. In fact, it wasn’t until half a foot of sword blade emerged from Corypheus’ chest that I realized we were no longer alone in the room.

The sword disappeared – drawn back out the way it had entered, and Corypheus started to turn towards his attacker.

I was still bending every inch of my will on his staying still, and he moved like he was waist-deep in mud. He simply didn’t have the reflexes to react to the shield slapping his clawed hand out of the way so the sword could sever his head from his body.

The entire form collapsed in a quickly-evaporating puddle of viscous black goo. I felt myself waver on my feet, but the attack on my will was not over. I closed my eyes, planted my feet, and directed Corypheus _away from me_.

_You cannot have me, mother fucker._

“Gwen?” a voice I would recognize anywhere asked from just past my right shoulder.

 _I am not yours for the taking, Magister fuckwad_.

“Gwen, can you hear me?”

 _Get on your fucking dragon and get the fuck out of here_.

The attack vanished, and I opened my eyes to see the red glow of his tainted connection to the Veil rise up on the causeway where the corpses of other corrupted Wardens yet lay near the expended defenses of the Temple. The lyrium drake swept down – a massive form in FadeSight, a swirling blackness that was in actuality an impossibly dark red – and scooped up the regenerated Elder One, bearing him quickly away.

He faded out of my vision and I blinked, shifting my consciousness so I was seeing simply the waking world around me.

Cullen, the black ichor of the Elder One yet dripping from his sword, was standing before me, concern painted across his face.

“Don’t tell Dorian,” I whispered conspiratorially, “But you are _my fucking favorite_.”

His shoulders sagged in relief, and he lowered his blade. “Maker, but I would kiss you if I wasn’t coated in that bastard’s blood.”

“Yeah, clean your sword,” I said, sitting down heavily on the lip of the now-empty Well. “Shit’s nasty.”

“Were you really just staring down the Elder One?”

“Oh, I have had _such_ a day. Nothing ever goes the way it was supposed to.”

“Gwen,” he said flatly, sheathing his sword after having wiped it clean. “Will you please give me a straight answer?”

I shook my head. “You should be operating under the assumption that my mind has been damaged by the Elder One.”

He froze in the act of lifting to my feet, his hands freezing just inches away from contact. Behind him, his soldiers were crawling across the Temple, already switching gears from _conquer_ to _clean-up_. The bodies of the dead were to be hauled away and burned, as no one wanted to deal with the undead the night after a battle.

“Were you?” Cullen breathed the question as if it hurt him.

“No,” I answered easily. “It was a near thing, but no. I am myself. But you should treat me as if I had been, at least until we can get back to Skyhold and I can get a thorough once-over by Hellen, Anders, and Solas. If only to save yourself the ass-chewing Hellen is surely going to aim at me.”

Cullen shuddered slightly. “That is a valid point,” he allowed, and then swept me into his arms regardless. “I’d rather live through a dressing down from the Inquisitor than spend five days refusing to touch you,” he whispered into my hair as he clutched me tightly to his chest.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on for dear life. “Maker, Cullen, that was _so scary_.”

“My heart about stopped when we walked into the Temple and saw the Elder One, just _standing there_. But that was nothing to the feeling of terror when I realized you were _staring him down_. What was _happening_ , Gwen?”

He set me down and fixed me with a firm look. “I will take all of your information with the caveat that it might be horribly altered by Corypheus’ attack on your mind.”

I stifled a slightly hysterical giggle. “The important thing is that Hellen and all the others have gone back to Skyhold. Morrigan is leading them through the pathways that connect the eluvians, and they should beat us home. Arguably. I mean, the time thing.”

Cullen nodded as he unbuckled his shield and slung it over his shoulder and fastened it to his back. “I know about the time thing.”

“I did not accompany them because I can’t enter an eluvian, apparently. Merrill told me after she’d sent Hellen through, so there wouldn’t be a fight about everyone staying behind.”

Cullen scrubbed a hand across his face. “She is going to be…”

“Fucking furious, I know.” I sighed. “She got Samson, I think-“

Cullen pointed vaguely off to where the fight had happened. “I saw. There’s not a lot left of him, but it’s enough to make the identification.”

“I was busy at the time. We’ll talk on the way home, and I’ll tell you everything that happened.”

“With my apologies to your horse,” he said as he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me tightly to his side. “You’re not riding back alone.”

I tucked my head against his shoulder and relaxed into the sensation of being protected, of being safe once more. “I was hoping you were going to say that.”

 


	61. Pt III Ch 13: The Sun, When it Starts to Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Army comes home from the Arbor Wilds, and the Inquisition is immediately beset by the next battle.

Cullen had a very hard time believing the news I gave him from the incident in the Temple of Mythal. He agreed to a suspension of disbelief until I could get the whole story told, and then he fell silent for several hours while he worked through the shift to his world view.

“And you contend Mythal is alive, more or less, and is the spirit inhabiting Morrigan’s mother, Flemeth?”

“Right.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen sighed, slouching a bit in his saddle. We had waited until after midday on the first day of the long ride home to have this conversation, until we could be sure we had some time to talk, and the army could survive for a bit without Cullen’s direct leadership. In the meantime, I’d been exasperating him with puns about marching during Wintermarch.

“Do you think Morrigan believed you?”

I shrugged. “Standing at the lip of the Well of Sorrows, facing an ancient elf who had risen from uthenera to defend Mythal’s Temple? I don’t think she would have believed me under any other circumstances, for sure. Seeing Merrill’s Vallaslin change had to have helped, as well.”

Cullen was nodding. “I will not make Leliana’s mistake and doubt you. Not now, not after everything. But this… this is…”

“Unbelievable, I know,” I sighed. “It was easier for me to accept, because this world was a fantasy setting when I first encountered it. It was merely a good twist in a great story, and I could just take it and move on. The idea of _meeting_ Mythal…”

Cullen stiffened slightly. “The day you met Hawke,” he started, and I laughed, knowing where he was going.

“Hellen gave you the full transcript of that conversation, I suppose.”

“Maker’s Breath,” he whispered. “You weren’t kidding when you said you’d rather-“

“Throw myself off the battlements than admit I knew something Flemeth didn’t want me to? Yes. Dead serious. Can you blame me?”

“No, not at all,” he replied absently, eyes wide and staring somewhere far ahead of us.

“I don’t know if it happens on the way back to Skyhold, or sometime in the near future, but Flemeth knows where Morrigan is now and she will confront her – and Kieran – with the truth. If Morrigan doubts me, she will not for long.”

“Is Kieran in any-“

“No,” I answered immediately. “He is… special. But he will not be harmed. Neither Morrigan nor Flemeth would allow him to come to any _harm_. Morrigan will get a slap to the face, though, when Flemeth says… _a soul is not forced upon the unwilling. You were never in any danger from me_.”

Cullen hissed in a breath from between gritted teeth.

“Yeah. Ouch. She spent her entire life raging against her mother, who honestly just wanted to give her the power of an elven creator, and all she had to say was _no_.” I shook my head. “And then she almost _enslaved_ herself to that same spirit. I hope she sees my interference as a boon.”

“Why Merrill?” Cullen asked.

“Because the Vallaslin are the way the Evanuris marked their slaves,” I told Cullen. “And Merrill was already marked as the property of Elger’nan. If you’re going to be a slave to an ancient elven asshole, it’s better to be the handmaiden of all her knowledge than the common rabble.”

“Are the Eva…Ev…”

“Evanuris.”

“Are the Evanuris coming back?”

I took a slow breath. “Not if I can help it.”

Cullen went still, and I patted his hand where it rested on my hip, holding me tightly against him on Korth’s high back. “After, Cullen,” I whispered. “That’s one of the many things we’ll talk about _after_.”

“Maker,” he breathed, and then fell silent.

 

*

 

We rode into Skyhold on the sixteenth day of Wintermarch, the one-year anniversary of the Conclave explosion.

Nobody seemed to care, much. The occasion was supposed to be a solemnly noted affair, with moments of silence and stoic speeches. When Skyhold suddenly loomed on the horizon, the marching army broken into cheers. Cullen and I trotted into the keep, eager for news of the rest of the Inquisition, and were greeted with broad smiles and loudly called welcomes.

Hellen lifted me into the air from Korth’s back and spun us around until I was too dizzy to see straight, and we stumbled, careening, through the courtyard.

“You’re alive!” she laughed. “Merrill told me why we’d left you behind and I… I… I thought... But you’re alive! Sweet blessed Maker, you’re alive!”

I wrapped my arms around Hellen’s neck and laughed with her. “You jackass! You’re supposed to suspect me for being, I don’t know, tainted by the Elder One or something! Don’t welcome me back with open arms!”

Hellen scoffed. “I stared that asshole down in Haven. I watched _you_ stare him down on the Temple bridge and save Alistair to boot. If you’re alive it’s because you’re a _badass_ and not because he got into your head.”

“Well, actually, it’s because Cullen stuck two feet of steel in him,” I granted, gesturing at the blond man smiling happily down at us as he leaned nonchalantly against the saddle horn. “And I was still willing him not to move, so he couldn’t get his hands on me and haul me off somewhere, so Cullen was able to lop his head off and save my ass.”

“I would promote you if there was anyplace higher to go,” Hellen told Cullen happily.

“Is that a joke about the horse or a threat to make me the next Inquisitor?” Cullen quipped.

“For fuck’s sake, _share_ ,” Dorian insisted, exasperated, as he tugged on Hellen’s sleeve.

Hellen dropped me and I was immediately scooped up by the Tevene. From there it was a veritable free-for-all as I was passed around to everyone who had feared for my safety. It took a solid forty-five minutes to make my way through the Chargers. Twitch wrapped me in a hug that I thought would break my ribs, and didn’t manage anything but a repeated whisper of _thank god_ before Bull picked me up and _actually_ cracked one of my ribs.

Anders patched me up and the reunion continued. Cole was nearly inconsolable, once he'd gotten over his anger, whispering _never again never again_ for so long I started to worry he was regressing back into a spirit. I ended up with Alistair, who silently pulled me against his chest and held me until the courtyard started to empty and I feared for what Cullen would think.

“I nearly caused your death,” the Warden said when he finally let me pull away. “After everything you’ve done for me, my simply being there drew his attention to you, made you a target. Gwen… _I’m sorry_ doesn’t seem to cut it.”

“I would have been a target regardless,” I argued. “I couldn’t go through the eluvian, I was stuck there. Your absence would not have changed that. If anything, you gave me some practice at facing him down. Don’t sweat it, Alistair. We’re okay.”

He started laughing, weakly, and shaking his head. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Funny, I’ve heard that before.”

“Here,” he said, quickly pulling a wire-wrapped crystal from somewhere inside his armor as he glanced around to ensure we were alone. “Quick. Tell her your name. I want her to know your voice.”

“What-“

“Hurry.”

I leaned forward so my lips nearly touched the phylactery. “H-hello. My name is Gwendolyn Rhiannon Murray. Alistair’s making me speak to you, sorry if it’s an inopportune time.”

“Remember her name,” he said to the crystal as he drew it away from me and then tucked it back into his armor.

“Does she-“

“Know about you? Of course she does. Do you think I’m not telling her stories at every possible opportunity?”

I tried to keep my inner fangirl silent, but the idea of maybe getting to meet – and even be friendly with – the Hero of Ferelden was a bit more than I could restrain. “Ooh, that would be _wonderful_.” I tried to keep my voice at a reasonable octave and utterly failed.

Alistair started laughing, wrapped an arm around my shoulder, and drew me towards the main hall. “Come on, there’s a few more people you need to talk to.”

 

*

 

“You sold Merrill into _slavery_ ,” Hawke said, striding towards me as soon as we entered the war room. "Flemeth can  _control her_."

A year ago I would have taken a step back. Eight months ago I would have burst into tears. Six months ago I would have apologized profusely.

I had just stared down _Corypheus_.

“I got her bought by a more lenient master, with a position of power, respect, and security,” I countered, lifting my chin.

“Elgar’nan-“

“Could be in stasis somewhere just like Mythal,” Morrigan interrupted. “Until yesterday, when she… met with… Kieran, we had no way of knowing who and what Flemeth was, no way to know Mythal was the name of the spirit she had handed down over the centuries.”

“How is Kieran doing?” I asked her, and Hawke _sniffed_ at the diversion.

“He is well,” Morrigan answered with a smile. “Thank you.”

I nodded, and turned to Merrill. “How are you? Are the voices tolerable?”

She nodded, and then flashed me a smile that I could only describe as _transcendent_. “This is… more than I could ever have hoped for. I know Hawke wants only to protect me, but… I know, Gwen. I know what you’ve done for me. I can never thank you enough.”

I turned back to Hawke. “I love you, asshole. I love your entire ragtag band of misfits, including Merrill. Maybe _especially_ Merrill. And if you want to be mad at me… that’s alright, too. Whatever you need, Hawke. Whatever you need.”

He stared at me in horror for several long minutes and then stormed out of the war room.

“Going to get drunk with Varric?” Alistair guessed.

Merrill nodded. “Definitely.”

“Was there anything else?”

“Yes,” Morrigan said, coming around the table. She walked directly to me and gently wrapped me in a hug.

“Thank you,” she breathed, and I hugged her back. “I do plan to hold you to your promise of _never_ calling this favor in. I do not believe I could repay it.”

I grinned at her. “You’re welcome.”

“Are we done?” Hellen asked from the doorway. “I don’t think any of you is authorized to be in the war room alone.”

“No?” I asked, quirking eyebrow.

“Especially you,” she laughed. “Out!”

Laughing, the four of us allowed ourselves to be shooed out. Alistair accompanied Morrigan – will wonders never cease – to go check on Kieran, who was purportedly playing some sort of game with Fiona. Merrill headed off to talk Hawke down, saying “He’ll come around eventually, Gwen, don’t worry. He’s friends with _Fenris_ , after all.”

I made my way up to my apartment to find Cullen stretched out in bed waiting for me. With a light heart, I locked the door and joined him.

 

*

 

“Corypheus has one option,” Cullen said, leaning over the war table the next morning. We’d had a long and involved conversation about everything that happened, the changes in perspective that came with all our information, and the revelation that the key to defeating Corypheus was to be found in the portion of his soul he had secreted in his dragon.

Not for the first time, I reflected on how this was a little too _Harry Potter_ for my taste.

“We have everything we needs here. The eluvian. The knowledge of the Well. Gwen. The anchor. Anything he could use to enter the Fade, we have systematically taken and brought here. We’ve painted a target on ourselves.”

“He has little chance to break into Skyhold,” Leliana argued. “You have been hard at work for the better part of a year fortifying the keep against attack from the ground or the air. We are too deeply entrenched; he cannot hope to succeed here.”

“So he lures us out,” Cullen countered. “He pulls us into an offensive elsewhere and attacks Skyhold behind us. We must be on guard for a feint.”

“Or he waits until Hellen leaves on some other errands and redoubles his effort to capture her,” Leliana offered. She and Cullen were watching each other as if they were opponents on either side of the chess board, trying to ferret out the next move.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Hellen sighed. “Would you assaches just _ask Gwen_ what he’s going to do?”

I hid a smile behind my fist as all eyes turned to me. “Would you do us the favor us telling us the plan, my lady Gwen?” Josephine asked, clearly not thinking it would be this easy.

I shrugged. “What is the one thing Hellen _has_ to leave for?”

“Rifts,” Hellen answered immediately. “I am the only one who can close rifts.”

As if on cue, the air split with a detonation like a lightning strike directly upon us. Chips of stone tumbled to the ground, knocked free of the solid walls of the keep. Seven pairs of eyes locked on me in varying degrees of shock and fear.

“Or he could reopen the Breach,” I sighed, and gestured at the window.

“What… _how_?” Hellen demanded, striding to the window to stare angrily at the Breach, swirling to life over the mountains to the south.

“How’s your hand?” I countered.

“Agony,” she replied, not so much as glancing at it. Adaar had always been tough, but she had come through the other side, graduating into a bonafide hardass.

“So Hellen must leave to close the Breach. In her absence, he attacks Skyhold?” Cullen surmised.

I shrugged. “In the story I was told, Hellen marches out there, hands him his ass after killing his dragon, and we all live happily ever after.”

Hellen froze at the window, one hand clutching the sill. “This is it?” she gritted. “This is how it ends?”

“If me being here didn’t fuck anything up…. Yes.”

“I can even the playing field with the dragon,” Merrill volunteered, and I grinned at her.

“Yes. Yes you can.”

“I must admit, I am rather jealous of that aspect,” Morrigan confessed.

I shrugged again. “You win some, you lose some.”

“I’m taking everybody,” Hellen told us through clenched teeth. “Every member of my team suits up and comes. Everybody.”

“I would like to request an opportunity to add my will to yours,” Morrigan said, and Hellen nodded, once.

“Alistair, Hawke, Anders, the Chargers, the army, Fiona… the rest of our forces stay here. Protect Skyhold at all costs. Cullen is in charge in my absence. We leave at daybreak, and we will _end this_.”

 

*

 

There were a thousand things to do before Hellen left in the morning.

Cullen had to prepare the keep for a potential invasion, which I couldn’t rule out since I’d never seen the way the game ended with a Seeress in Skyhold while the Breach was open. Leliana set up a relay of scouts, to either provide backup to Hellen or provide information of her success – since failure was ruled out as an option – back to Skyhold. Josephine was given a task that left everyone else in silence.

“You’re sending me away, Inquisitor?” she asked, stiffly.

“You are to go to Val Royeaux in the morning and be in position to relay the information about the Breach to Celene,” Hellen repeated slowly, carefully enunciating the words. “You are serving your position as ambassador. When you leave, take whatever visiting nobility out of Skyhold with you. The fewer civilians around, the better. The less opportunity for the Inquisition to be forced to apologize to some noble house for letting their lesser scion be slain in an attack on Skyhold, the better. Did you have something else you intended to do?”

Josephine clenched her jaw in the first show of aggravation I had ever seen her direct at Hellen. “No, Inquisitor. I did not.”

“I have a name, Josie,” Hellen said softly.

“Yes, Inquisitor, I know,” she said, as she turned on her heel and left the war room.

When the door closed, Hellen squeezed her eyes together as if she was feeling pain for the first time in her life and didn’t know how to cope.

It was entirely possible she _was_ , I reflected. I didn’t know if Hellen had ever felt heartache like this before.

“She will have to meet with him while she’s there,” Leliana informed Hellen.

“I know,” Hellen sighed. “If this kills me… I’d rather she has her family. If we all come out the other side… well. I can cross that bridge when I come to it.”

Merrill and Morrigan were given marching orders, and then Hellen turned her eye to me.

“You are to write your entire conversation about what comes _after_ and lock it in your chest for Leliana to find, should the worst happen,” Hellen informed me.

I smiled slyly at her. “I did that in the weeks after we returned from Halamshiral.”

It brought a weak smile to her face. “Fine, then. Stay the fuck out of the way. Do not leave Skyhold, do not come anywhere near Corypheus, stay here where you're _safe_ for once. No repeats of the Arbor Wilds, do you hear me?”

“Ser! Yes, ser.”

With a wave of her hand, we were all dismissed.

It was already growing dark, the planning having drawn us late into the evening hours as plans and counter-plans were laid in place. I could have gone to the ‘Rest, to spend the evening relaxing with the Kirkwall Crew and the Chargers. I could have gone to Cullen’s office to keep him company as he burned the midnight oil, working around the clock to prepare the keep for an invasion I wholeheartedly believed wasn’t coming but couldn’t justify ignoring the possibility of. Cullen was sure to not come to bed, that much I knew. I could have gone to the garden to visit with Morrigan and Alistair, who the witch was asking even then to protect Kieran while she was away, and to raise him as the warden’s own should she fall. I could have tracked down Eleanor and checked with her on the preparations in the infirmary for any potential mass casualty incident.

I could have gone to spend time with any one of the dozens of people whom I had come to know, respect, and even love in this, my second world, my second home.

With a heavy heart, I stayed in the main hall, already darkened and empty as the nobles were encouraged to pack and evacuate on the morn. I crossed from the war room to the antechamber beneath the library, and glanced around to find a shape on the scaffold I had long since suspected made up Solas’s bed.

“Permission to come up,” I called from the base of the ladder.

“Lethallan?” he called back, confused. “Oh… of course.”

I slowly ascended the ladder, keenly aware that I would never do it again without a deep seated regret. Solas had sat up, and I planted myself beside him, our heels kicking idly in the air over the side.

“What brings you here tonight, Gwen?”

I looked pointedly at the library above us, closer from the top of the scaffold, and with a smile he spread his hands and enclosed us in a zone of silence.

“Hellen is riding out tomorrow to confront Corypheus, kill his dragon, and attempt a retrieval of the orb.”

“Attempt?” Solas asked.

“You and I both know the only person who could safely wield it – or the anchor – is you.”

Solas dropped his hands in his lap with a sigh. “I had held out hope that the orb would be retrievable.”

I shrugged. “I’ve been wrong before. By all means, try.”

Solas smiled at me. “I intend to.”

“But if you succeed, and you retrieve the orb, you need not stay,” I continued, and his expression melted back into solemnity. “If you do not retrieve the orb, again, you need not stay. And if all is lost… well, then it will not matter.”

“Should all be lost, I will come back for you, lethallan.”

It was my turn to be taken aback. “You… what?”

“If Hellen is to fail, the Elder One will strike here, furiously. The Inquisition will be the first to fall. But you and I… we would not necessarily be injured by the Veil collapsing. We could survive, live to fight another day, fight the future Corypheus intends.”

It was too much to consider. “Hellen will not fail,” I ventured, and Solas smiled, weakly.

“I will not argue that point with you. If you say she will not fail… she will not.”

“Which is what brings me here. You’re leaving tomorrow, and I’m not going to see you again. You’ve been a friend, Solas. A true friend, a confidante, an ally, and I… I will miss you dearly. Is there any way I can ask you to stay?”

Solas shook his head. “You were correct in your earlier assessment, Lethallan. If the orb is retrieved, or if it is lost, I will be drawn away. You understand my motives well, I believe.”

I sighed. “So this is the last night that we will be simply this: Gwen and Solas, friends. After today nothing will ever be this simple again.”

“I fear you are right.”

“Leliana is going to go looking for you,” I told him wearily. “And she will know that I know where you are.”

“Oh?” Solas laughed. “And you know where I will be?”

“Somebody has to take the eluvian network out of the hands of the Qun,” I responded flatly, and he went still.

“I was made to believe you had no knowledge of events after the fall of Corypheus,” Solas stated evenly.

I sighed again. “I didn’t. Not until Hellen brought my memories back from Adamant. I gained… oh, a year or two of information. Not much. Enough to know how Hellen eventually finds you, where you go after tonight, and the plans the Qun have been hatching all this time. Not enough to know if you ultimately succeed, or if we’re able to talk you out of it.”

“It?” Solas repeated.

I grinned at him. “You don’t tell me your plan, don’t worry. You say you know better than to divulge a plan before it’s started.”

Solas laughed, then, and leaned over to gently rest his shoulder against mine. “I did not expect to find this, lethallan.”

“Find what, lethallin?”

We leaned our heads together, the serrated point of his ear resting against the rounded edge of my own. “ _This_ , Gwen.”

“I do not want you to go, Solas,” I told him. “I do not want this to end.”

“Come with me,” he breathed, but I could hear the resignation in his voice.

“You know I cannot.”

We were silent, then, watching the magic of the zone of silence slowly pull apart with time and entropy.

“Did you just come to say goodbye, lethallan?”

I shook my head, gently, to avoid a head-knock injury on the eve of battle. “I came to spend some time with you, while I still had the chance. I came to give you the only gift I have to offer.”

“Oh?”

“You’re leaving. You’re going into a battle. And then you’re… going on the run,” I said, softly, finishing in English, mindful of the open ceiling leading to the library, and the way voices might carry at night. “I thought I would offer to watch over your sleep, and let you rest one night in my aura.”

It was Solas’ turn to be surprised. “I would… like that, lethallan.”

We shuffled a bit, then, and Solas laid down with his head in my lap, with a bit of coaching on my part.

“Will you sing me to sleep, too, like the Mother Justice and Wisdom insist they see in you?” he jested.

“As you wish,” I teased back. “I only know one lullaby, though, and it’s not wholly appropriate.”

When he didn’t answer, I launched into song.

_They didn’t have you where I come from. I never knew the best was yet to come._

_Life began when I saw your face, and I heard your laugh like a serenade._

_How long do you want to be loved? Is forever enough? Is forever enough?_

_How long do you want to be loved? Is forever enough, because I’m never ever giving you up._

_I slip in bed when you’re asleep, to hold you close and feel your breath on me._

_Tomorrow there’ll be so much to do, so tonight I’ll drift in a dream with you._

_How long do you want to be loved? Is forever enough? Is forever enough?_

_How long do you want to be loved? Is forever enough, because I’m never ever giving you up._

_As you wonder through this troubled world in search of all things beautiful,_

_You can close your eyes when you’re miles away and hear my voice like a serenade._

_How long do you want to be loved? Is forever enough? Is forever enough?_

_How long do you want to be loved? Is forever enough, because I’m never ever giving you up._

The words seemed to hang in the air when I finished. Solas’ breath was even and slow, and for a moment I thought he had fallen asleep. A smile twitched across his features, and one long-fingered hand snaked down to briefly clasp my own. I returned a squeeze of his fingers.

“You should sing it again, hah’ren,” he whispered.

The change in address was so profound that I was briefly at a loss to say _anything_.

I sang the lullaby twice more before I was certain he was deeply asleep.

I held his hand until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Staring at the ceiling in the dark  
> Same old empty feeling in your heart  
> Because love comes slow and it  
> goes  
> so  
> fast  
> You see her when you fall asleep  
> Never to touch and never to keep  
> Because you loved her too much  
> And you dived too deep.


	62. Pt III Ch 14: This One Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the last chapter in Part Three.  
> There are two other chapters in this story.  
> The next chapter is your denouement.  
> The last chapter is an epilogue.
> 
> Just remember.  
> THERE ARE TWO CHAPTERS LEFT.
> 
> HEY  
> This gets dark.  
> Like, really dark.  
> And arguably graphic.  
> So if you're the kind of person who looks for trigger warnings...  
> BE WARE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Restless tonight  
> Because I wasted the light  
> Between both these times  
> I drew a really thin line  
> -  
> Even though I know  
> I don't want to know  
> Yeah, I guess I know  
> I just hate how it sounds

There was to be no farewell the next morning. Hellen was torn up over Josephine, and the idea that anybody was saying _goodbye_ was strictly avoided. I stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Cullen on the battlements, and silently watched the twelve figures disappear quickly to the south. Josephine and the evacuating nobility had left in the hour before, and the keep was silent in a way I’d never experience it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to bed last night,” Cullen said wearily when they were out of sight.

“Don’t be,” I answered. “It’s one of those things we’ll talk about _after_.”

“I… I heard you didn’t go to bed last night, either,” he offered carefully.

“You heard right,” I sighed. “You have nothing to be jealous of or angry about. But I will explain it when they come back.”

Their ride was slated to take more than a day, and Hellen intended to ride hard to Haven, rest, and launch her attack on the Breach the next morning. With any luck, this whole ordeal would be over in thirty hours.

I spent almost no time with Cullen that day. I helped Alistair and Fiona keep Kieran calm. My assertion that I had never seen a future without his mother in it did more to soothe the boy than anything either of his actual elders could have told him, and they thanked me profusely when he was finally relaxed.

Hawke was a mess, and when I found him in the ‘Rest I was fully expecting to walk into a war.

“You were right,” he said the second our eyes met. “She explained Vallaslin, as she understands it now, and you were right. Better Mythal than Elgar’nan, any day of the week. The only better option is no Vallaslin at all.”

“And that implies a connection to Fen’Harel,” I told him, and he paused with his mug halfway to his mouth. He glanced at me, drank, and dropped the empty tankard to the bar. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

“Revisit the idea next week,” I sighed, dropping my head to the bar top.

And just like that, Hawke and I were back to rights. The Chargers were on high alert, watching for any possible attacks against the keep, so the ‘Rest was mostly empty but for Hawke, Anders, and me.

We made sure to keep Cabot occupied.

I rolled into bed at nearly midnight, completely unsurprised to find Cullen missing once again.

Somewhere to the south, Hellen and her team were asleep in Haven, all of them together for the first and last time.

I shut my eyes to the world I knew, prepared to wake up to an entirely new existence the next day.

 

*

 

The Breach was still swirling in the distance when I awoke the next morning. I had avoided looking at it – and hadn’t seen it at all when it had been open the first time – but from here it simply looked like a particularly nasty storm.

Granted, the storm had green spectral lightning and wasn’t moving. But still – just a storm.

I was disquieted all morning, and decided I would feel better with my old shoes on. I dug my all-stars out of the wardrobe they were buried in and felt somewhat better with my sneakers on. Something about being ready to run was comforting; that, and the white rubber toes peeking out from beneath my green dress was the sort of thing that cheered me up every time I noticed it.

I wandered into the main hall to find breakfast, and ended up engrossed in conversation with Lyal, who had wandered through on her way upstairs to report to Leliana. I stole her attention and delayed her with a basket of scones and a pot of coffee, causing the Nightingale to come looking for her. Rather than berate her scout for lacking punctuality, Leliana sat down with us and helped herself to a scone.

Seeing the two of them, shoulder-to-shoulder, made something behind my sternum flutter with unease. I noted they both had their bows slung over their shoulders – Cullen had everyone on high alert.

“There’s something wrong,” I told Leliana.

“What?” she asked, leaning forward.

“I… I don’t know,” I confessed. “Just… something doesn’t feel right.”

The three of us sat, eyes flickering between the gazes of our companions, searching for questions or explanations that might help clarify the issue.

We never got the chance.

A shockwave rocked through the main hall as an eardrum-rending _boom_ had everyone skittering for cover.

“The Breach?” I asked, and Leliana shook her head, eyes wide.

“The Breach was louder, but with a gap between the shock and the sound. That was a rift.”

The word left her mouth not two seconds before the screams started in the courtyard.

We leapt to our feet and charged to the big double doors, flinging them open into the bitterly cold morning air to look down on horror.

A rift had spawned, in the open area of the lower courtyard between the bottom of the stone stairwell and the gates leading out onto the causeway. Soldiers couldn’t get into the keep past the swarm of demons spawning; the interior of Skyhold was effectively cut off from the entire encampment of the army.

Demons were spawning at an incomprehensible rate. The streams of sickly green energy were shooting off in all directions, seemingly unfettered by distance and elevation. As we stood, horrified, in the doorway, a beam of rift energy shot in front of us, puddling at the top of the far battlement, and causing an envy demon to rise up on the wall. He rose to full height for the space of three breaths, and then plunged over the wall into the garden beyond. He was met with screams of horror, and I distinctly heard Alistair’s voice bellow a challenge before shouting for Kieran to get back.

The keep rumbled around me, debris raining down from the ramparts. The power of the rift spinning in the courtyard threatened to tear the ancient structure loose of its foundation. Noncombatants – servants, merchants, my healing staff – were pushing past me, fleeing into the lower levels, as soldiers rushed in all directions, to buy the civilians safety with their own lives. Leliana and Lyal, flanking me, were pressed together by the mass panic.

“There won’t be anyone left to save by the time Hellen returns!” Leliana shouted.

“We have to evacuate!” Lyal called back. I felt their hands brushing my back and shoulders as they fought to stay beside me in the press of people.

“We can’t!” Leliana replied, despondent. “The rift stands between most of the populace and the gates! The only hope will be to find shelter in the lower levels! Cullen’s forces must hold a line!”

“There are too many,” I breathed, aware the two archers at my back could not hope to hear me over the screaming stampede and shouts of combat. “We cannot hope to hold out. The demons will win.”

The woman’s words in my garage, the day my world ended and I was brought here, suddenly rang through my head.

 _Sometimes, child… sometimes, the demons win. They won today. But they will not defeat you, in the end_.

Everything, suddenly, was breathtakingly clear. Every ounce of confusion, of doubt, of insecurity, washed away in a heartbeat as I realized this moment was my entire reason for being.

 _This_ was why I survived. _This_ is why I was saved. _This_ is why I was brought to _this_ place at _this_ time.

I spun to Leliana. “I know what I have to do!”

“What?” Lyal stammered as Leliana grabbed my arms. “Gwen, you can’t possibly-“

“I do! I do know! Leliana, I have never been certain of anything in my life like I am sure of this right now. _You have to trust me_. This is my purpose.”

Lyal was shaking her head but Leliana’s eyes widened. She saw something in my countenance that convinced her like my words could not dream to.

“What do you need of us?” she asked.

“Covering fire,” I answered immediately. “Nothing will attack me directly. I need to you to keep me clear of any incidentals.”

Leliana nodded, and she turned and issued a series of orders to Lyal, but already I was turning back to the rift. I saw them unslinging their bows, tightening their draws and guards, and setting arrows to strings behind me as I strode out into the fray.

I ignored the arrows that flitted through my vision as I descended the stairs. Every demon within three paces of my path exploded as the Dalish hunter and the Master of Spies drew and released so quickly it sounded like I was being strummed into battle by a bass player.

As I reached the bottom of the stairs and turned the corner to twist around and descend the second flight to reach the rift, and I was sure that I was clear of the civilians still rushing into the main hall, I sent my will rolling out around me, the way I had only before managed in the Fade with Solas near to my shoulder. My only conscious thought was _get out._ The demons closest to the rift were turned in on themselves, drawn into writhing balls of ectoplasm and sucked towards the rift. The closer I got to the swirling tear hovering in the air, the farther the radius of destruction spread. By the time I was halfway down the second flight of stairs, every demon that had escaped into Skyhold was a mere green ball of goo, flying back towards the rift from which it came.

I reached the bottom of the stairs and was suddenly within arms’ reach of the rift, knowing that contact between me and it would cause its destruction. No more demons would emerge, no more innocents would be lost. I took the last step, finding a center of calm as I accepted my fate. As I reached for the rift, and the pulsing green light flared as if with pain, I heard a man’s voice calling my name from somewhere above me.

“Gwen!” Cullen shouted. He was running across the battlement across the courtyard from me, approaching one of the stone staircases, hurrying down to the courtyard to assault the rift.

I met his eyes as my fingers met the hole in reality.

“Gwen!” he shouted again, his voice cracking in distress. He sheathed his sword as he ran and his shield swung forgotten as his enemies lay vanquished.

The day was won.

The energy from the rift suddenly expanded, and I was lifted into the air, my limbs jerked away from my body so violently my arms and legs were yanked from their sockets. I floated a few feet above the ground, limbs askew and straining against the force of the rift. I felt the vertebrae separating in my spine as I was slowly pulled apart.

“ _Gwen!_ ” he screamed as he charged down the stairs, and the anguish in his voice was a spear in my side.

The energy from my impact with the rift – an immovable object meeting an unstoppable force – reached its zenith, and began to collapse in on itself. The forces pressing on me crackled down my ribs, fracturing them when I attempted a last breath. I was disconnected from the pain, the sensations existing but only in the periphery. My mind only registered the rift closing and Cullen's footsteps seeming to slow, my perpetually skewed sense of time rendering his face into slow motion. In the heartbeat before the rift imploded, I watched Cullen’s mouth soundlessly form the word _no_.

As the world disappeared in a blaze of green, I gave him my best smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I traded it all  
> If I gave it all away  
> For one thing  
> Just for one thing  
> If I sorted it out  
> If I knew all about  
> This one thing  
> Wouldn't that be something?


	63. At the Maker's Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know all those questions I said were good questions and I promised would be answered before the end?  
> There are some answers you just aren't allowed to have while you're living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of information here. LOTS of information. Breathe. Take it slow. It's gonna be okay.

“I was wondering when you would show up,” Patrick’s voice greeted me as I opened my eyes.

We were sitting on the shore of Somes Sound, one of the many carriage trails snaking across Mount Desert Island standing empty behind us. There was a gurgling sort of waterfall spilling off the mountains into the ocean nearby, and the day was decidedly overcast. It was the soft sort of afternoon that was perfect to spend roaming around Acadia; Patrick had long called this spot _our happy place_.

Patrick was wearing a sturdy white dress shirt, the top three buttons undone to reveal a white undershirt, the sleeves rolled just far enough up his forearms to reveal the bottoms of his tattooed sleeves. He was sprawled beside me in blue jeans and his hiking boots, although I got the impression we hadn’t been walking long. It was a lazy, wandering sort of day.

I reached across to slide my fingers into the hair on his chin – he’d kept his brown hair buzzed short but had grown out a full beard since the day his retirement papers were signed – and he grinned at me, tilting his head back to give me better access to his face. I scritched my fingernails across the hidden dimple in his chin and met his smile.

“Been waiting long?” I asked, withdrawing my hand.

He shrugged. “There really isn’t time here. Things just _are_ until there’s a decision to make, and then everything stops.”

“A decision?” I felt my head tilting to the side. There was something I was forgetting, something important.

“A decision,” he shrugged again. “A fork in the road. Minor ones slide by all the time, but the big ones bring everything screeching to a halt until they’re settled.”

Something within me was alright with this explanation, and urged me to lean back against Patrick and watch the sunset over the water. But something else was disquieted, screaming for more information. I shook my head to try to clear the discomfort, but it was winning out by a steadily increasing margin.

“What was the last big decision?” I asked.

Patrick frowned, for only a moment. “Whether you would come here with me or go to Thedas.”

The last year came screaming back to life and I shot to my feet. “Patrick!”

“Calm down,” he sighed. “Like I said, everything stops. There’s no rush. Sit back down and give it a minute to seep in.”

I blinked and for a moment he was as I had last seen him: skin peeling, hair charred, eyes open and staring. Blood was caked under his fingernails and his clothes were battered and filthy. Another blink and it was gone, and he was just Patrick again.

“Spoilsport,” he grumbled. “You always had far too good of a memory.”

“Did the rift kill me?” I breathed.

“Maybe,” he answered. “That’s not my decision.”

“Whose decision is it?”

“Ours,” a woman’s voice said from behind me, and I froze. I had only heard it once before, but I would recognize it anywhere.

I turned slowly to see her gliding towards us from over the water, white robes untouched by wind or wave, her blond hair swept back into the cowl that curled around her head. She was not currently smiling, but the promise of it was there, and the crow’s feet at the corner of her eyes guaranteed that she smiled far more than she frowned.

“Andraste?” I asked.

“Yes, Gwen,” she returned, answering a hundred questions at once.

I closed my eyes and exhaled, realizing as I did it how completely unnecessary it was. There was no air here, and I had no need of it.

“Am I dead?” I asked her. “Did the rift kill me?”

“Did you want it to?” she asked in return, and I heard Patrick rise to his feet behind me. His hand slid into place at the small of my back just as a pack of wolves appeared on the far shore of Somes Sound, visible over Andraste’s shoulder as she settled onto the rocks before me. The wolves began to pace back and forth down the shoreline, all eyes fixed on me, and I suddenly understood the choice laid before me: stay in peace, or cross over and battle.

“I chose to go to Thedas,” I said slowly, and the Maker’s Bride nodded once. “So did everyone else you brought. It was always a _choice_. An easy choice, perhaps, but a choice nonetheless.”

“You have said it yourself,” Andraste replied. “A soul is not forced upon the unwilling. There is no task that cannot be refused.”

“So what am I choosing between?” I felt like I knew, but still I wanted it spelled out. Andraste’s lips twitched upwards into the smallest of smiles, but the warmth was immediate and undeniable.

“It is much the same as before,” she answered. “Stay here, enjoy your hard-earned and well-deserved Rest with Patrick and, eventually, your beloved family…”

“Morty and Killeen would be thrilled to see you,” Patrick added from just over my shoulder.

“Or go back to Earth and join the fight alongside your brother and his wife…”

“…And eventually end up here with me,” Patrick interjected once more.

“Or, a third option,” Andraste continued with an indulgent smile for Patrick, “come back with me to Thedas and serve a higher purpose.”

“What fight?” I asked at once. 

“There is a war in your world, a terrible war that is changing everything you knew. Your family is embroiled in it, and it will consume the remainder of their days. It will irrevocably alter your nephew’s life. Your skills from before, as well as your knowledge of warfare and tactics you have gained since, would all serve well in your home world.”

“What purpose?” I prompted.

“You could return to Thedas in the instant you left, and awaken as my Herald in truth. Your foresight would be second only to my own, and you would be a Seeress in more than just name. I would awaken in you the TrueSight you have merely flirted with until now. Your relationship to the Veil will be invaluable in the years to come, and you might yet be a savior for countless lives.”

“Can I ask other questions first?”

She grinned at me. “Within reason.”

“How… ugh. There's no nice way to ask this. The creation story in the Chant is wrong, so I always thought you were, uhm, well-“

“Fake?” she finished with a smile.

I flinched. “Yeah.”

“If I were to say your name was _Gwendolyn Roberta Murray_ , would you agree or disagree?”

“Disagree. My middle name is-“

“So if one part is wrong, the entirety should be discarded? Since the middle name was wrong, the first and last are also false?”

"So the creation story being wrong doesn't mean the entire story is false." I sighed. “Right. I threw the baby out with the bath water.”

“I’m not precisely a baby, but… yes.” Her smile never slipped. I felt like there was nothing I could possibly do wrong, in her sight. I mentally made a list of questions, the Big Questions that had come to rule my life. I would spit them out rapid-fire if I had to, and ponder the answers later.

“Why do I have this relationship with the Veil?”

“I gave it to you,” she answered simply.

“You… why? Why me?”

“Because you had the innate capability to control it. In time, down innumerable generations, the ability could develop and assert itself, but in you it already hovered near the surface. You had already explored the realm of dreams on your own, _lucid dreaming_ , as you call it, and you possessed the greatest willpower of any of your ilk. You had studied Thedas in depth, with true devotion, and you were in a position to make leaving your world a simple choice. Others possessed some of these traits, but only you were a perfect fit for Thedas’ need.”

“And the others?”

“Suitable traits to assist you, but none were better suited to become my Herald. And it is only after living in Thedas for as long as you have that you have grown to encompass the role. You have been everything I could have hoped for, and more.”

“Why did so many of them die?”

The smile slid from her face. “We cannot see past the moment of decision,” she answered sadly. “Once decisions are made, the future they cause becomes clear, but until then it is nebulous at best. I could not accurately foresee the failure or success of any of my transplants. Not even you, my chosen voice.”

“So you’re saying our lives, our fates, are not predetermined?”

Andraste shook her head, _no_. “Your friend Dorian said it well. We may cast a pebble down the hill, and know it will fall, but we cannot determine where it may land, or what it might touch on the way.”

I had to mull that over for a long minute before I could move on. The responsibility for all my choices, for everything that had ever happened, settled heavily onto my shoulders. God – the Maker – my Creator – had sent me on my way, but my experiences were all of my own making.

“What is TrueSight?”

“It is the ability to see the truth in anything. Already you have found in yourself the knowledge of things far beyond your ken. You were aware of Patrick’s death without any memory of it. You knew of Cullen’s safety without having seen it. You have _known_ many things… this would expand that a thousandfold. You would be able to see the truth of anyone, any _thing_ , if you look upon it and wish to know. Your ability to _see_ the status of the Fade, to peer across the Veil, is part of this TrueSight.”

“Is that what would make me Your Herald? I would always be able to see the truth?”

“What would make you my Herald would be an agreement to carry me always in your heart, to open your mind to my suggestion, and to serve my purpose as if it were your own.”

“Would I lose-“

“You would lose nothing. You would keep your free will, your friends, your family, your relationships as you have built them. My purpose would become your occupation, not your identity. I am not an Evanuris, and you are no slave.” There was something steely in her tone at that, and I shuddered away from that line of questioning.

“Why do the spirits call me _Mother_?” I asked, saying the words before I realized I was thinking them.

The smile bloomed on her face once more. “I brought you to the ninth age, but you understand there are many ages of men in Thedas, and time as you reference it has no meaning between worlds. Many of the people I saved from the cataclysms in your world possessed the same innate relationship to the Veil as you, and to these survivors I promised a new world, an empty world, a place where they and their children and their children’s children could be safe from the turmoil that had consumed their home. Many of them were touched by what you call _fallout_ , but this world has different properties than your own, and it was not a death sentence here. They were altered by it, but not slain.”

“You’re… you’re saying people from Earth are the progenitors of humans on Thedas?” I whispered.

“No, I am saying they are the ancestors of elves,” she corrected kindly.

I stared at the wolves pacing the far bank as my mind raced to process a radical shift in my worldview.

“As the early settlers’ lives ended, their spirits stayed on, echoes of their will. The population shifted from being simply humans to become elves and spirits; eventually the magic inherent in this world elongated the lives of the elvhen to match their wills, and spirits evolved until they could scarcely remember their origins. But deep within the oldest of them lies the whispered remnants of what once was, and those spirits know you to be of the same race as their ultimate ancestors. You are a member of their Mother Race, you are One Who Came Before.”

This is the precise sort of instance cursing was invented for, but looking into the serene visage of Andraste, I couldn't bring myself to swear.

“So when I die…”

“Is that your decision?”

I didn’t answer aloud, but the exasperated look on my face let her know what I had chosen. Her eyes sparkled as she inclined her head and waited for me to continue. “…my spirit would live on in the Fade? Or would I generate a number of less distinct spirits?”

“One decision at a time,” she said softly. “There are many forks in the road before we must investigate that path.”

“You’re going back,” Patrick said from behind me. It was not a question.

I spun around to meet him, nodding. “I would like your blessing.”

He reached up with both hands to cup my cheeks, tilting my chin up so our eyes met. “I am so proud of you, Gwennie love. You moved on. You made yourself a new life. You were too strong to lay down and die, to give up without a fight. You have more than earned the right to go forward with no regrets. But tell me… you have chosen life over death. But are you going back to your family? Or are you going back to Thedas?”

“I would love to see them all again,” I told him, and his eyes slid closed as my decision became clear. “But I created a new life in the belief that I could never go back. My family believes me dead; to go back opens the door to the possibility that they would have to mourn me a second time. I have a new family, a new purpose, and I can do so much…”

He was nodding as my words tapered off. He brushed his thumbs along my cheeks and then pulled his hands away, letting me go in more ways than one. “Did you end up with Cullen?” he asked with a smirk.

I swatted him. “Don’t act like you don’t know, ass. He lets me honor your memory, and he maintains you were a wise man.”

Patrick nodded. “I told you so,” he said to Andraste.

I spun around to stare at her. She shrugged, sheepishly. “I meant for you to tame and temper Anders. As I said, I can merely cast you in the direction we decide; your fate is your own.”

“You didn’t mean Cullen when you said I would be embraced?” I asked, stunned.

She grinned at me. “There was one person who held you when first you fell, who held you again when the bag of your belongings was retrieved, who held your memories safe until you could claim them-“

“Hellen,” I breathed. “You meant Hellen.”

“She is the sister to your soul,” she said softly in confirmation. “And she will protect you for as long as she draws breath. It was into her embrace I cast you.”

“Her head’s going to swell to the size of Satina when I tell her that,” I grumbled, and my two companions laughed. Patrick’s laughter was warm, comforting, and yet strangely unfamiliar. I wondered for a moment if I had forgotten the sound of his laugh, but the thought vanished as quickly as it came. Andraste’s silvery peals were reminiscent of bells, and somehow made me think of raindrops on a sunny day.

“That is ultimately your choice,” Andraste reminded me. “Are you sure you wish to return to Thedas? Very little time will have passed, but I must warn you… your body is not precisely intact.”

I scrunched my nose at the memory of my shoulders and hips being dislocated, the cracking of ribs and vertebrae. “Can Anders heal it?”

Andraste’s smile did not waver. “None of it is necessarily permanent. You know I cannot control whether you live or die once you return, and if there is a delay in assistance…”

“I understand,” I nodded. “It’s going to hurt like hell, you’re telling me, and it’s not your fault if I end up right back here in a few minutes.”

“Correct,” she congratulated me happily. “You are content with your choice?”

“I am,” I said, and the world shifted. Andraste and Patrick both shut their eyes for a moment and tipped back their heads slightly. Their eyes flicked rapidly back and forth as if they were reading something on the inside of their eyelids. When Andraste looked at me again, her face was more solemn, but I could almost _feel_ the pride radiating off her.

“There are more decisions in your future,” she told me, reaching out with both hands, palms up. I immediately placed my hands into hers and let her close her fingers around my wrists. “And there will come times where I will speak directly through you. You are to be my Herald in truth, and I hope we shall help shape this world together.”

“Thank you,” I whispered as she drew me close. “For these chances, for this life. Thank you for choosing me.”

“Thank you, child,” she replied. “You are everything I could have wanted. Be true to yourself, and we may accomplish much.”

“You don’t mind, do you?” I asked as the Maine shoreline – and Patrick, I realized a moment too late – faded away. “That I took up with Cullen, I mean?”

She laughed again, the sound rich and impossibly contagious. “Your life is your own, child. It is not the choice I expected, but that does not make it the wrong one. As much as you are to be my instrument, your choices are yours to make.”

“So any screw ups are on me,” I said with a nod, and she threw her head back and laughed once more.

I was starting to be aware of my body again – the promise of intense pain to come – and I knew our time was short. “Tell Patrick I’m sorry, I didn’t say goodbye.”

“Patrick?” she asked with a sparkle in her eye. “Is that who you saw?”

“Yes, of course. Didn’t you see him? You spoke-“

“I never know how He is going to appear,” she said with a wink. “Clever of Him to put you at ease like that.”

As my mind blanked out in shock, Andraste’s hands released mine and the world came tumbling back into focus. I was yet suspended in mid-air, the rift having dragged me off my feet as it imploded. My arms and legs were straining within their sockets, and it took every ounce of will I could muster to keep them _attached_. The joints were stripped but as long as they didn’t come _off_ I had faith in Anders to save their function.

_Here’s one of those times_ , Andraste’s voice chimed in my ears, and I found myself listening to my voice speaking words that were not mine.

_“This woman comes back to you now as my Herald in truth,”_ she said with my mouth, and I could feel her presence around me. I looked around the courtyard and saw everyone staring in my direction, expressions thunderstruck. Their gazes were aimed just above me, though, and I realized Andraste was appearing in the air around me, where the rift had previously split open the sky. She managed to pull from my throat every note my voice could produce all at once, so I sounded like a chorus of multitudes rather than myself.

“ _I send her back to you with a message for my daughter, your next Divine._ ”

My hands moved of their own volition, held outright in front of me…

…towards Leliana.

“ _My Nightingale, my child… it is to be your task to lead my Chantry back into the Light. In your hands may the world find balance once more.”_

Leliana tumbled to her knees, her eyes wide.

_“Will you accept this burden?_ ”

“I will, My Lady, I will,” Leliana gasped.

She was gone, then, from the air around me if not from my mind. As I looked at Leliana – really _looked_ at her, in a way I didn’t yet understand well enough to describe – I could see the ages drop away, see her mother’s face, and _her_ mother’s face, stretching back into time until they were all eclipsed by the smile of the Maker’s Bride. I knew, as I had simply _known_ so many things, that Leliana was a literal scion of Andraste, an ultimate granddaughter, and that Maferath had _not_ been Vivial’s father. The betrayer’s jealousy took on an entirely different meaning when I realized the Maker had taken Andraste to be His bride in truth, fathering Her daughters where Maferath could not.

I could still feel Her, deep in my consciousness. I was connected to Her in a way I could never hope to explain; I was definitely still Gwen, but with access to something Divine. Unfortunately, the divinity had nothing to do with my mortal form. As I finished my descent back to earth, my heels settling on the ground, I was reminded that _my hips are out of socket_ , and I collapsed to the frozen courtyard in agony.

I was caught just inches from impact, strong arms around my waist lowering me gently into a familiar embrace.

There was a flash in my peripheral vision, and before I could determine where it had come from, an echo of a distant explosion ripped through the keep. It was dulled by the roar of blood past my ears and the agony of every heart beat, but I knew, _knew_ , Hellen had closed the Breach. Hellen was coming home. We'd won. I bent my will on breathing, on keeping my soul attached to my body, on being  _here_ when she got home. A ghost of a memory whispered through my mind, Wisdom whispering for me to  _breathe_. 

“Gwen,” Cullen sobbed brokenly.

“How can I crack my head open,” I murmured, “when you keep catching me?”

“You’re alive,” he breathed. “Praise the Maker, you’re alive.”

“Send for Anders,” I told him. “She couldn’t promise I would stay that way.”

Cullen lifted his head, angling his parade ground voice away from me. “Fetch Anders! NOW!”

All the soldiers nearest him _scattered_ , darting off in all directions to try to find the rogue spirit healer. Leliana stumbled forward, half crawling, to kneel beside Cullen. She cupped my face in her hands, finely boned fingers cold beneath thick callouses from years of firing a bow. “My Herald,” she gasped.

“Most Holy,” I answered.

She started to laugh, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, you’re going to be impossibly smug from now on, aren’t you?”

“I should make up a dance to go along with the _I Told You So_ song,” I replied, and she tipped her head back with laughter as I fought to breathe without actually moving my ribs. The pain was exquisite and inescapable; I willed myself to ignore it, to not feel it, to think of anything  _but_ the fact that I couldn't breathe and it felt like my limbs were on fire and there was no possible way for me to sit or stand or lay or _exist_  that didn't involve pressure on shattered bones. Thank the Maker for the gift of willpower.

“WHERE IS ANDERS?” Cullen bellowed, and another half-dozen soldiers scattered.

“What hurts?” Leliana asked, running her hands quickly over my body, searching for injuries.

“Separated vertebrae,” I answered, frowning as I forced myself to think about my own broken body for a moment. “Compression fractures on… _all_ of my ribs. Yeah, definitely all of them. Both hips and both shoulders dislocated. There’s something horribly wrong with my knees, ankles, elbows, and wrists, too, but it’s hard to pick out past the hips and shoulders.”

Leliana grunted. “So the whole _touching a rift will kill you_ was accurate?”

“Oh, definitely accurate,” I agreed, once again thinking about _anything other than_ the pain. Distraction was the only thing I had going for me. “I’m pretty sure I was literally at the Maker’s side.”

“You… you saw the Maker?” Leliana breathed. “What… what was he like?”

“I smacked him and called him an ass,” I answered, and she and Cullen both froze. “Andraste seemed amused.”

“Amused?” Cullen whispered in disbelief.

“I always figured she had a sense of humor,” Anders chimed in, dropping to his knees opposite Cullen.

“You’ve got some work to do,” I informed him solemnly, and he nodded as he did a quick assessment. “Knicker weasels, Gwen, what happened to you? Are you willing yourself alive _again_?”

“I threw myself into the rift and Andraste brought me back,” I answered evenly, and Anders paused. “Where were you?”

“In the garden keeping Hawke alive,” Anders slowly replied. “Successfully, I might add. You’re not joking, are you?”

“No,” Cullen answered grimly, and I realized – a bit belatedly – that the Commander had just watched me die.

“Anders can save me, Cullen,” I told him, and he slowly turned his head down to meet my gaze. “Just as I knew I could save all of these people, I know Anders can save me.”

“You died,” he told me as the first waves of Anders’ magic washed over me, knitting my ribs back together. Before I could offer to pull from the Fade to power him, the healer thumbed off the cap of a bottle of lyrium and downed it in one long pull. To his credit, Cullen didn’t so much as glance at the blue liquid, although I saw his nostrils flare when the smell of magic hit the air. “You looked me in the eye and smiled as you died. I watched the life leave your body.”

“Tell me you wouldn’t die to save me,” I challenged, and his eyes narrowed. “Tell me you wouldn’t make the same decision.”

My spine slid back into proper alignment and I took a proper breath for the first time in what felt like ages. I was aware of Leliana resolutely keeping her position, defiantly staying at my side.

Cullen stayed silent, and Anders did _something_ to my wrists and then my elbows as he worked his way up my arms. He took another long draw of lyrium before turning his magic toward my shoulders.

“Hellen won’t be back for a day, at least,” I told him, taking his silence as confirmation of my point. “Everyone in Skyhold could have been dead by the time she returned, myself included. I was dead either way; and it turns out this is what Andraste was hoping I would do all along, so if you want me to feel sorry for saving your life you’ve got a long time to wait.”

Cullen eased back on his heels and tipped his head back, closing his eyes and breathing slowly as Anders physically pushed my shoulders back into socket. I hissed a breath through my teeth at the pain, which disappeared quickly as he worked to reattach the tendons and ligaments that had been severed by the power of the rift.

Once my arms worked again, I reached out and took Anders’ wrists, channeling the Fade into him to power the rest of his work. I hadn’t ever been very good at determining how much energy he had available the way mages could just look at me and see the Fade, but today it was simpler. A glance at him let me _know_ that he was running low, told me precisely how much energy I should channel into him to help him heal me. He looked like he wanted to argue my contribution, but I scowled at him and he continued without a word. I had to release his wrist for him to reach my ankles and work his way up my legs, repairing the joints as he went, but the connection was established and I kept the tap open, as it were.

It was a long, tense silence while Anders pieced together my knees, forced my hips back into socket and reattached the ligaments and tendons that had been pulled loose when I was nearly quartered by the rift. Finally, he pushed back to sit on his heels and sighed. “I think that is everything I can manage. You should be alright with some rest.”

“You need rest, as well,” I told him. “Send everyone you haven’t healed yet to the infirmary, where they can keep until you or Hellen have the energy to-“

“That won’t be necessary,” Anders interrupted me gently. “And if you’ll pardon me for saying, _my lady Herald_ , you’re in no position to be issuing anybody any orders right now. You need _rest_. I don’t know if you realize it, but you did actually just die. Don’t make me put you to sleep again.”

Leliana moved back out of the way as Cullen stood, lifting me easily. “Let Hellen know she’s alright, and to take her time returning,” Cullen informed them. It occurred to me as we walked away that either could do the job; Leliana could send a raven or Anders could pass the message along via Justice and Wisdom. Either way, it was out of my hands.

“There are injured I should-“

“Gwen,” Cullen interrupted with an air of greatly tried patience. “Know that I mean this with the greatest possible respect. But, _please_ , just shut the fuck up.”

There was nothing that could silence me faster than the shock of Cullen swearing at me. I felt my jaw hanging open as I stared at him in flat astonishment, and his own expression slowly shifted from annoyance to wry amusement. “I _am_ a soldier, you know. You act like you’ve never heard the word before.”

“I… I… I _haven’t_. Not from _you_.”

“Bollocks,” he sniffed, although his amusement inched closer to an open smile.

I worked on ratcheting my jaw closed as he carried me back to our rooms, and deposited me squarely into the middle of the bed. “I can’t call on Cole to mind you, but promise me you’ll stay here and rest? The keep _was_ just attacked; I don’t have the luxury to take the rest of the afternoon off to make sure you sleep.”

I scowled at him, but knew he wouldn’t accomplish much if he worried about me. He had a point; as Commander of the Inquisition forces he probably shouldn’t have taken the time to carry me to bed. I worked to clear my face and nodded.

“Thank you,” he breathed.

“Don’t stay up too late,” I requested mildly. “You have Lieutenants for a _reason_.”

“Yes, your Worship,” he answered blandly.

“Oh, _fuck you_ ,” I retorted, throwing a pillow at him.

He dodged as he made a hasty retreat. “Only if you rest.”

It was as good a reason as any.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come on, now, I couldn't kill Gwen. I need her in the sequel!
> 
> Next chapter is the epilogue, and then we're all out of Stars.


	64. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of tonight, Keep to the Stars - and its an author - have a combined 216 subscriptions.  
> I'm going to hit _post_ and more than 200 people are going to get a notification that I've brought this story to an end.  
>  That is so unbelievable to me. I can't include the 100+ bookmarks because I don't know if there's overlap... but you guys. YOU GUYS. There are hundreds of you who want to be notified when I post this chapter and that means more to me than I could ever hope to craft into words.  
> Thank you for making this labor of love a community event.  
> Thank you for the amazing comments you've left and the incredible friendships that I've gotten to be a part of.  
> Just. Thank you.

I was sitting in a heavy chair in the war room when Hellen returned, victorious, the next evening. She walked directly into the war room, fell to her knees beside me, and laid her head in my lap.

“Wisdom said…”

“I’m sorry,” I answered immediately, smoothing her hair with both hands. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said, standing up stiffly. “Now that I know, for a fact, that you’re _alive_ , I can head for Val Royeaux.”

“It’s already late. Your horse needs the rest. You’re better off leaving in the morning.” I ticked the points off on my fingers. “Besides, I have to tell you what you missed.”

“I don’t want the _after_ ,” she argued, leaning wearily on the war table. “Not until I bring Josie home.”

There was silence at the announcement. Tonight it was just the four of us in the war room: Hellen, myself, Leliana, and Cullen. Everyone else had been dismissed to whatever celebration they thought necessary. Cassandra’s absence wasn’t felt half as keenly as Josephine’s endlessly scratching quill.

“Then you need the _during_ ,” I argued. It took hours, but eventually we got through the entire damn ordeal, answered all of Hellen’s questions, and had sat through the epic ass-chewing I knew the Inquisitor was going to aim at me.

“You _died_ , you coldhearted _asshole_ ,” she hissed when she ran out of things to shout.

“I got better!” I argued.

“You _died_ ,” she repeated. “You looked Cullen in the eyes as you _died_ , that is the shittiest thing I have ever heard!”

“It was, actually, pretty damn shitty,” Cullen confirmed flatly.

Hellen and I, caught in a staring match, were suddenly stuck in a desperate battle to not burst out laughing at Cullen’s concession.

Leliana ruined it with a giggle that was instantly contagious.

The laugh threatened to go into hysterics, but we needed it.

We had just staved off the end of the world.

“Solas didn’t come back,” Hellen informed me when we’d all regained control of our emotions.

“I know.”

“You spent that last night singing him to sleep,” Leliana added softly.

“I did.”

“You did that because you knew he wasn’t coming back. It was a foregone conclusion,” Hellen surmised.

I could do nothing more than nod.

“Will you tell us why?”

I nodded again. “That is part of the _after_.”

“Fucking elves,” Hellen sighed. “Fine. I’m going to go pretend to sleep, then I’m leaving at the ass crack of dawn to bring Josie home. And then, _then_ , we’ll get into the _after_.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Leliana said, halting Hellen’s escape, “how do you intend to bring her back?”

Hellen shot me a look of exasperation. “I’m challenging her betrothed to a duel.”

Leliana’s jaw dropped and Hellen took the Nightingale’s rare moment of surprise to affect her escape.

Leliana recovered quickly and dashed off on Hellen’s heels, hopefully to give advice and not to try to pry out details.

“You sang Solas to sleep?” Cullen asked in the sudden silence of the war room.

“I did,” I answered.

“Will you tell me why?”

“Because Solas isn’t our ally any longer,” I replied with a sigh. “It was the last time I could be in his presence and know, as an inescapable fact, that our motives were aligned.”

“Who is he, really?” Cullen asked.

I smiled. “Are you asking for the after?”

He returned my smile, gesturing at the empty war room. “Did you have other plans?”

With a happy laugh, I had him draw up a chair, and with a few notable exceptions – Kieran’s actual identity, the secrets of the Joining, the phylactery around Alistair’s neck, the big ones I’d promised to keep forever – I told Cullen everything I knew.

That night, I slept better than I ever had before in my life, wrapped tight in Cullen’s forgiving embrace.

 

*

 

Hellen left the next morning with only Cassandra beside her, matching sour expressions of resolve on their faces. The only explanation we got, as the Inquisitor was stalking to the stables for her mount, was the dismissive grunt, “She’s my second.”

We got no news from Val Royeaux, despite all of Leliana’s efforts to the contrary.

Ten days later, Cassandra and Hellen returned in the middle of the night with an exultant Josephine in tow. We met in the war room at dawn, and I was kept cloistered until nearly dusk as I spilled every bit of information I had on Fen’Harel, the Veil, the Qunari takeover of the eluvian network, and the guaranteed influx of spies in the Inquisition.

While we were in the council meeting, the Inquisition started the official _Fuck Coriffyshit_ party, as named by Sera.

It lasted for three days, at which point the letter came from Val Royeaux stating Leliana had been unanimously voted, on the first ballot, to become the next Divine. The party changed from _Fuck Coriffyshit_ to _Fuck Yeah Divine_. Aside from the name change, the revelry was essentially unaltered.

Josephine was promised a more formal affair in Skyhold before Leliana left for Val Royeaux for her coronation. _That_ party was much more in line with what we’d experienced in Halamshiral. Like Halamshiral, I spent the entire time on the dance floor. Unlike Halamshiral, I danced with Lyal and Twitch and Krem and Eleanor and anyone else in Skyhold who was willing to ask for a turn. For Hellen’s sake, I wore the dress she’d missed seeing me in, when I’d been kept away from the fifth night of the Ball. Everyone agreed it was worth the wait.

When the time came, only seven of us made the trip to Val Royeaux for the ascension, hoping to avoid notice by neglecting to bring an entourage. Bull and his Chargers were sent ahead, to clear the road and fortify our accommodations outside the capital city. Vivienne rode with us, chatting with Cassandra about _what might have been_. Cullen and I rode just behind Hellen and Josephine, and watched them finally come to the sort of understanding that left them both perpetually grinning at each other like the giant dorks I knew them to be.

Leliana made the trip in almost abject silence, utterly overwhelmed by the life she was travelling to claim. The only exception was at night, around our campfire, when she sang us every song she knew. When she ran out, I taught her new ones.

We stayed at Vivienne’s chateau just outside the city, managing to stay under the radar until arriving at the Grand Cathedral on the morning Leliana was due to be named the next Divine.

It was a scandal, to be sure. We walked in unannounced, without fanfare, without _recognition_ , until Hellen asked the gate guard precisely how many Qunari mages he knew with a glowing green hand. Since he was hanging upside down by an ankle at the time, the message was received rather clearly.

Once we walked inside, the pomp and circumstance began with earnest. We’d promised Josephine and Vivienne that the rest of us would submit to whatever indignities were demanded of us for so long as we were allowed to enter the city _incognito_. So when I was put in a flowing white robe _identical_ to the one Andraste had worn each time I’d seen her, I kept my smart mouth shut.

When I was the subject of the first proclamation by Divine Victoria to be the Herald of Andraste the vessel of her will on Thedas, I managed to keep my face serene.

When I was given rooms in the Grand Cathedral and told I would live there, at the heart of the Chantry, from then on, I replied with only humility and a small smile.

“You know I’m not staying,” I told Leliana late that night, as we sat in our pajamas on the floor of her massive new suite. “I have so much work to do, especially now that you’re not in Skyhold to help lead the purge of the Inquisition. We have too much looming on the horizon for me to be trapped in ceremony here.”

“I know,” she answered, smiling. “I just wanted you to know you always had a place here. I wanted you to know that your knowledge, your burden, will not stay unappreciated, will not be dismissed. I wanted you…” She broke off, smile widening into an open grin. “I wanted you to come up with steps to that _I told you so_ song and dance you threatened me with.”

I stayed long enough to tuck her into bed in her new suite, and to really _look_ at her, and reassure myself that she would not soon share Justinia’s fate.

“What do you see, my Herald?” she whispered, already hovering near sleep.

“Years,” I answered softly. “I see your face with many more years on it.”

With a smile, she drifted peacefully into the Fade.

I cupped my hand to her cheek for a moment and then sat down on the floor beside her bed. I shifted my consciousness into the Fade and Stepped to the chateau outside the city that Cullen had retreated to with Hellen and the others. I felt the world shift around me as I fled the Grand Cathedral.

“Took you long enough,” Bull’s teasing baritone rumbled in English from the darkness of the courtyard.

“Had to tuck in the Divine,” I answered softly, in kind. “You know how particular those religious figures are.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” he replied dryly, and we both laughed.

“The kids all in bed already?” I asked, glancing around for Chargers and seeing none.

“Kept the courtyard clear so you didn’t run into anybody when you faded in,” Bull answered. “They’re excited to start the new job.”

“Oh? Somebody beat the Inquisition’s offer?”

“Yeah,” Bull laughed. “You.”

I snorted. “You’ve finally gone fully delusional on me.”

“Nah. The Divine Victoria has contracted us to be the personal bodyguard for the Herald of Andraste. You’re the Boss now.”

I squinted at him in the unsteady torchlight, uncertain how serious he was and not wanting to get in the habit of turning True Sight on my friends. “Are you fucking with me?”

The former Ben Hassrath leaned down, swept my feet out from under me, and tossed me over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t dream of it, little spy.”

I laughed helplessly as I dangled upside-down and utterly undignified behind the mercenary captain. Hellen and the others were awake and waiting for me, somewhere in Vivienne’s chateau. We had years of hard work yet before us – plans to construct, contingencies to sculpt, alliances to mold and infrastructure to repair.  Somehow, as I was carted past cheering (and _jeering_ ) Chargers, I forgot I was part of an organization that was hell bent on saving the world. I wasn’t the Herald of Andraste. I wasn’t some would-be savior.

I was just a woman, surrounded by her family, doing the best she could.

“Ma’s home,” somebody called, and all I could do was laugh.

“I am,” I answered. “I definitely am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We started with Bull and Gwen. I felt we should end with Bull and Gwen, as well.  
> *  
> I should note, again, that there will be more to this story. Keep an eye on Pillars of Creation - this series - for all future installments of Gwen's worlds and Hellen's story. I have three currently in the works and a fourth in the far future. I will start posting more frequently on Will to Live now that we've reached an end here, and once I finish my data-mining playthrough we'll start to see Hellen's POV on the DLC stories.  
> Again... I love all of you who have commented or kudo'd or found me on tumblr or twitter or sent me something for the crate. Let's keep in touch, no?


	65. The Further Adventures of Gwen & Co

Hello, my lovelies!

It was specifically requested that I post a chapter update on Keep to the Stars when I began posting the DLC sequel.

Guess what.

The newest book in our saga can be found here: [Steel Your Heart](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7998745/chapters/18310705), Part 2 of the Pillars of Creation. 

(it should be noted that the title is meant in warning to my  _readers_ , and you know how I love to work the title into my stories as much as possible)

BUT please be aware that this is part  **six** and that means there are four other parts between here and there!

Parts 4 and 5 feature my darling friends aelie and coffeeguru as the main authors (with me stepping in from time to time, I must admit) while part 2 is the one-shot collection that contains a great deal of information about the characters you're  _extremely likely_ to encounter in this story. Pay special note to any chapter marked "Escape."

And, my current favorite child, part 3, or Twitch's Tale, [Will to Live](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6063355/chapters/13899100). We are currently up to the point in that story wherein the Breach has been closed and our strange newcomer is encouraging an evacuation of Haven. If you would like another perspective on the events of Keep to the Stars, that would be a fantastic place to look.

And, last but not least, I have some FANTASTIC art that I really need to post but can't from my tablet because I don't plan ahead but I WILL TOTALLY DO THAT SOON. 

Thanks again!

~mary~

**Author's Note:**

> I need to add some shout-outs here.  
> First, my beloved [Husband](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Synthetics66) for brow-beating me into posting my works online rather than writing stories and never sharing.  
> Second, to my MP buddies [Coffeeguru](http://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeguru) and [E153N](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisen) for dragging me into their Google Hangout and being the best motivators and cheerleaders (and friends!) a girl could ask for. (Go read their stuff!)  
> Third, to [Chanterie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/chanterie), [Grimmcake](http://archiveofourown.org/users/grimmcake) and Dissatisfied_doodles for loving my worlds enough to create something of their own to accompany them. Your art sustains me.  
> And last, but not least: the people who first gave me an idea of community when I started posting here. [Phigmentor](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Phigmentor) and [Zombolouge](http://archiveofourown.org/users/zombolouge) are pieces of my heart and they need all the love in the world for making me feel like it was okay to claim this corner of the internet for my own.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Legends: Of the Sky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3811525) by [Eisen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisen/pseuds/Eisen)
  * [What Happens in Minanter Hollow....](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6532927) by [aelie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aelie/pseuds/aelie), [MaryDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryDragon/pseuds/MaryDragon)
  * [Glimpses of a Life Remade](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6572959) by [aelie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aelie/pseuds/aelie)
  * [The Night Is Long: L'Esprit d'Invention](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6704599) by [Yngvildr the Voracious (Yngvildr_the_Voracious)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yngvildr_the_Voracious/pseuds/Yngvildr%20the%20Voracious)
  * [The Tailor of the Inquisition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6727084) by [Rubber_Souls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubber_Souls/pseuds/Rubber_Souls)
  * [Lyrium's Bane](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6745204) by [therutherfordwife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/therutherfordwife/pseuds/therutherfordwife)
  * [Strange New Worlds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7120642) by [thunderscape7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderscape7/pseuds/thunderscape7)
  * [It's... Complicated...](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11437155) by [Amhitra_of_the_Silver_Fuller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amhitra_of_the_Silver_Fuller/pseuds/Amhitra_of_the_Silver_Fuller)




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